Holding a candle on the beach, she looked at the circle of lights the others had placed. The thought of the burial came to her. She heard someone crying, maybe her mother. As soon as it came, the crying disappeared into the soft steps of people passing behind her, some looking at her as they walked beside the ocean. She didn’t notice them. Wind moved her hair almost like a forgiveness but did nothing to the flames. The light of the candles warmed her face as she breathed in deeply, her back straight. As she exhaled, the flame wavered. She moved slowly, placing the candle in with the others, the sand falling toward the candle as though it were trying to stop its entry. Standing up she closed her eyes, her head bending toward her shoes. They were Converse, torn by the years. Opening her eyes, her posture began to bend into that of an old woman. She lifted her hood above her head. A cane appeared in her hand. Her hair became gray and …