Across from one of the oldest taverns in the city of Chicago lies Rosehill Cemetery. This Victorian-era resting place is the largest in the city and it’s stone walls appear to go on for miles. I often saw glimmers of this cemetery along my daily commute on the L train, though I had not yet walked it’s labyrinthine pathways. That is, until today.

This morning the air in the city was filled with that uniquely autumn smell. Pleasant, yet difficult to describe. Some kind of petrichor from the morning dew combined with the subtle decay of plant life. The air was crisp, tinged with a note of the upcoming winter months. My leather boots crunched across the brown leaves scattered along the sidewalk as I walked to get my morning coffee and contemplate my plans. It was one of those perfect autumn days, a prime backdrop for an adventure.