Toussaint

It was almost festive in the Montparnasse Cemetery yesterday, tombs bright with chrysanthemum and cyclamen, the aisles between the headstones crowded with visitors; gossiping, strolling, commemorating the faithful departed. This is the custom, it seems, on these days of All Saints and All Souls.
Granite glinted dully in the struggling November sun as the living bent to the task of sweeping, scrubbing, weeding and remembering. Some grim, some cheerful, some weary and resigned. Duty? Grief? Habit?
It is a tradition which I find foreign and old-fashioned, and yet I can appreciate that there is comfort to be found in ritual. Even if it seems strange to me to nominate one particular day each year for remembering those we have lost.
Great for the florists, though.