In my city, a motorway runs through an early settler cemetery. In the 1960s, the Council had to disinter around three thousand bodies and relocate them in a vault underneath the grounds. During the work week, this cemetery is alive - people eat their lunches there, jog with their Ipods plugged into their ears and wander around the gravestones. This Saturday as we wandered down the path, the wind rustled the eaves of the trees and golden leaves fluttered down from the canopy. It felt like we were being welcomed. I think people are lucky to spend the rest of their lives here.