Spring at Mount Pleasant Cemetery

Before I spotted the red-tailed hawk overhead, I noticed its shadow crossing the ground beneath the spring blossoms.

Moments later, I looked up to see it gliding silently above the trees — one of many reminders that Mount Pleasant Cemetery is far more than a cemetery. It’s also a place full of wildlife, history, reflection, and some of the quietest natural spaces in the city.

What draws me back is difficult to narrow down to one thing. It’s the trees, the winding roads, the architecture, the statues, the wildlife, the changing light, and the feeling of stepping out of the city for a little while — even though the cemetery sits just off busy Yonge Street.

The moment you walk through the gates, it feels like another world entirely.

There’s a stillness there that feels increasingly rare in Toronto. The cemetery’s connections to the ravine system only add to that feeling. Birds move through the canopy overhead, squirrels dart across pathways, and spring continues unfolding among old monuments and towering trees that have stood for generations.

Many of my visits happen in the morning, when the light is still soft and the grounds are quieter. Some days I head there specifically to photograph blossoms or wildlife. Other times I simply wander and notice what has changed since the last visit.

This year, the magnolias and forsythia especially stood out to me. I arrived just after the peak cherry blossoms at Mount Pleasant Cemetery, but there were still soft clusters of blooms throughout the grounds. Some branches were already losing petals while others were still opening in the morning light — a reminder of how quickly spring changes from week to week.

One of my favourite parts of spring is the gradual return of green. At first it appears in small splashes throughout the cemetery — tiny leaves beginning to emerge along the branches, soft light green tones spreading through the canopy, and patches of fresh growth appearing among the older trees and stone monuments. After months of grey and bare branches, the renewal feels especially noticeable there.

That contrast is part of what I love photographing at Mount Pleasant.

Weathered stone monuments sit beside delicate flowers that will only last a short time. Historic mausoleums are surrounded by fresh green growth. Robins hop through sections of the cemetery where families have been memorialized for generations. Life and memory exist together there in a way that feels quiet rather than heavy.

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I’ve realized my connection to cemeteries started long before photography. When I was a child, my grandmother used to take my sisters and I for walks through Pine Hills Cemetery in Scarborough. For me, cemeteries were never just places of mourning. They were also places to walk, reflect, notice nature, and experience history in a more personal way.

That feeling has stayed with me.

One area I’m especially drawn to at Mount Pleasant is near the fountain and the Garden of Remembrance. I didn’t photograph much there during this walk as people were quietly sitting and reflecting, and I wanted to respect that space. But moments like that are part of what makes the cemetery meaningful to me. It’s not simply a photography location. It’s a shared place of memory and reflection.

I think many people overlook cemeteries as living landscapes. They notice the monuments, but may miss the birds overhead, the changing trees, the small flowers planted beside markers, or the way the light shifts through the branches in the morning.

Places like Mount Pleasant Cemetery remind me that cemeteries can hold sadness, but they can also hold beauty, history, nature, and community. They are spaces where memory continues to exist alongside everyday life.

And each morning walk through the cemetery feels a little different from the last.