Silent Companions

I spent today just relaxing at the library and taking a walk around town.
I ended up finding myself in the cemetary after lunch.
Tranquility.
It was beautiful. I wandered passed the headstones, stopping every so often to examine the old inscriptions. It was so peaceful there. Aside from the whoosh of the cars driving passed the gated graveyard and the train rumbling by occasionally, the place was silent.
Only one other person was walking through the rows of the dead. A young man. A gardener. He carefully watered the potted plants that hung on several headstones. He nodded solemnly as I walked by. I smiled back, not saying a word.
There is something about a cemetary that I find comforting. Perhaps I find solace in the silence. The chirping birds and the general rush of life is absent. It is calm.
Why do I find comfort here? A healing of sorts? There is no creepiness in my experience with burial grounds. No hair-raising, blood-curdling feelings associated with these places for me.
"Dum, Tacet Clamat" L."Though silent he speaks."
In some strange way I think I feel at peace because those who lie beneath me are at peace. Through that silence I feel as though all things that matter "out there" are truly insignificant. In a way the silence does speak volumes.
And I am content.