My love for a cemetery was sent to oblivion when I visited Pere LaChaise in Paris.  The tombs, the paths, the moss, the rust, the broken glass, the flowers, the open doors with light pouring in, the doors closed, the copper and because this wasn't enough, these ceramic floral wreaths enraptured me, completely.  They were terarriums of sorts only compounding my love.  A love that I didn't think could grown any more.  I was blown away by these living works of art, nurtured by the souls and spirits of so many who have gone before us, they somehow thrived in morbidly lasting beauty.