A rustle and clatter to my left and my lantern fell on an almost bare maple giving its leaves to the autumn night's wind. Light of a crescent moon and another cold gust bring the whispering reminder of winter less than a month away.
I tighten my coat around me to guard against the dark air, careful not to drop my light or crush the flowers in my hand. A measly offering of the few wild flowers left at this time of year. But it's what she liked.
Moving cautiously among the smooth stones, being watchful of where I step, as to not upset anyone. The flickering dim flame just barely making chisel marks into words, I search for her's. I come to a patch of earth with signs of recent abuse. Leaning in to read the cold grey slab; I find it.
I kneel beside the small mound of dirt and think softly of the recent past as I gently place the bouquet in her hands. A small hiss caught my attention. A hiss, like that of a tired steam engine bedding down for the night. I look up slightly to notice a white mist swirling into the air above me.
With an outstretched arm, I run my hand through the whiteness. Cold to the touch, warm to the feel. It formed into an almost human shape to face me. And then, with the next chilling breeze, she said goodbye.
March 1st, 2000