We put stones over bones to remember. Then the snow blows like dust, and the tombstones are buried in snow. The stones, with names and dates inscribed, stand in a field surrounded by a stone wall. The bus whirs past on wet pavement. Sharon was always worried about the flu and when she couldn’t get a flu shot last year, I wasn’t too surprised to learn she ended up in the hospital. Her lung she said had collapsed. We commiserated on the phone. She was an artist and worked with chemicals.