What is it to become memory?

She left this morning, and today I find myself in a field on a trail at the end of a trail running west, and the evening is approaching. Light glows on the horizon in tangerine and the softest of lemons, and the light on the earth gives way to shadows stretching long toward the east and the memory of morning.

Mother and Child: This is the Way the World Ends.
Mother and Child. Charcoal

This is the first sunset she has missed.

The light fades, but in the darkness there is a promise made solemn, the promise set firmly in action over millennia of light and dark, and the return of light. The promise of return does not include her, and tomorrow will be the first sunrise without her, but I will hold her up to the light, the thought of her, held up to the rising light.

Tomorrow the memory of her will greet the morning sun.

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