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After many years of absence, I visited the picturesque village in which I was born. It has belonged to our family for a long time. There is a majestic cemetery, overshadowed by centuries-old trees. Under the wide canopies of trees lie the ashes of those who planted them. I came to the cemetery. Mourning songs and consoling songs of sacred requiem were heard over the graves. The wind moved across the tops of the trees; their leaves rustled; this noise merged with the voices of the singing clergy. I heard the names of the deceased - alive to my heart. The names were listed: my mother, brothers and sisters, my grandfathers and great-grandfathers who had passed away. What solitude in a cemetery! What a wonderful, sacred silence! So many memories! What a strange, long-term life! I listened to the inspired, divine chants of the memorial service. At first I was overcome by a feeling of sadness; then it began to ease gradually. By the end of the memorial service, quiet consolation replaced deep sadness: church prayers dissolved the living memory of the dead with spiritual pleasure. They announced the resurrection awaiting the dead! they proclaimed their life, attracted bliss to this life. The graves of my forefathers are surrounded by a circle of ancient trees. Widely spreading branches formed a canopy over the graves: a large family rests under the canopy. The ashes of many generations lie here. Earth, earth! Human generations change on your surface, like leaves on trees. These leaves turn sweetly green, comfortingly, innocently rustle, set in motion by the quiet breath of the spring wind. Autumn will come to them: they will turn yellow, fall from the trees onto the graves, and decay on them. When spring comes, other leaves will show off on the branches, and also - only during their short succession - they will also wither and disappear. What is our life? Almost the same as the life of a leaf on a tree! "May 20, 1848. The village of Pokrovskoye, Vologda province." You might be interested in: