What’s the quietest thing you’ve ever noticed in a cemetery?

I’ve been standing at the edge of the old section, watching light shift across weathered stones. The wind’s gone still, and for a moment—just a breath—the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of something like waiting. I keep wondering: what tiny sound do you remember hearing when everything else had stopped? Not a bird, not a car. Something that made you pause, even if just for a second.