She was standing alone on the shingle

Unmoving.

Gazing across the

Silver ripple green gray water

To a horizon lost in mist.

She was tall

But not tall enough.

Wearing his too long baggy jeans

His old maroon cardigan

His worn and worn and worn again flat cap.

Tears coursed, unchecked, down her cheeks.

I tried to witness the fathoms of her grief.

She glanced over her shoulder,

Perhaps aware of being watched

In the way that some women do.

Then returned to whatever shred of peace

She was finding, standing on a beach

In her husband's clothes.