She wasn’t sure what she beheld, why she was sad, or what she was hugging in her basket. Her eyes cast inward, contemplative. She neither flew nor stood, but seemed to hover, suspended. Was she trying to ascend? I don’t think so. She seemed earthbound–like the yellow moon, held in orbit by invisible bands. If she could speak, she might say she was not the rising kind. As if to say, I won’t leave you–and return–and leave you again, like him, always promising, then vanishing. Her greatest wish was more warm-blooded, human. She wanted to be remembered. Having no tongue, she knew she could neither come nor go in flames.