She was surrounded by a whirlwind of colors; an infinite vortex of rainbow that spread as far as the eye could see.

There was the ever passionate red, and ivory white; hues of pastels ran amok.

The petals of the flowers littered the ground like a natural carpet. They do not crunch underfoot; the person walking upon this mat of lost life simply sunk, ankle-length, into numberless amounts of the soft bedding.

The scents were absolutely exhilarating, but calm and serene at the same time. There was a variety of perfumes wafting around in the spring breeze.

Some were powerful, thought stirring and poignant, emerging from the intricate center of the well known rose.

And some were mystical, and differed from bush to bush, like nightflower.

The nectar of the honeysuckle was sweet to the tongue and welcoming to the mind, both soothing and invigorating at the same time.

She leaned down, nearly losing her balance on the unsteady ground and placed her hand on her gravestone.

Company was all that was missing.