These heaps of soil on the ground can mean life, have value.
They hold secrets, treasures, can be the calling for an adventurous man or the vocation of the neighborly woman with the green thumb.
But when you read the title, you thought of graves, didn't you?
That's how twisted and sadistic, how pessimistic and dull our world has become. We don't see the possibilities of beauty that bloom in secret behind the thick fog our words create. We don't have the capacity to understand how something like a grave- which, in our culture means death and insurmountable amounts of weeping- could mean anything but sorrow.
But just take the time to look closer.
On top of graves, flowers bloom for their inhabitants, guarding the treasure that lays just under the thin crust of soil below. They represent the life that was lived laughing, loving, and learning over the years. The blossoms show the value seen in this particular person by others, who smile when they remember the friend who still lives on in their thoughts.
Now, I'm not telling you to laugh and be joyful at a funeral. But consider the amount of hope brought by those stalks swaying in the breeze, the happiness recollected by the thin delicacy of the petals...
Look at those mounds of dirt. And rejoice.
Our society seems to like to stereotype everything, and now those stereotypes stain our words.