It was close to ten in the morning. The sky was gray, drab, boring and lifeless. Water lapped against the concrete pier though the sound was hushed. The wood docks reached out from the pier like the deteriorating ribs of an ancient skeleton.

           Her white, stiletto-heeled, Dolce and Gabbana strappy sandals clacked and clicked on the hard surface beneath her. The mellow tones of a single saxophone drifted by on the October breeze. Crimson coloured lips turned upward in a smirk as she recalled candlelight and romantic starry skies. Crows feet scrunched and stretched at the corners of her eyes as she chewed slowly on a piece of Dentyne.

           Several black forms huddled on an adjacent dock. The white-collared priest's lips moved, but the sound never reached her ears. There was only the saxophone. Her presence was noted with the small motion of turning heads. She stood still, silent, elegant in a white Chanel suit. She contrasted, like she had all her life. Whispering swirled and twisted around the brass saxophone's swinging notes. She was the single pale snowflake on the black asphalt. The first star in the night sky.

           A big, white, round-brimmed hat was pulled low over her forehead, shadowing her wrinkles and her age. She enjoyed feeling enigmatic.

           As the priest turned the urn over, letting pale ashes float smoothly down into the Hudson, the gathering of black forms moved back toward the concrete pier, toward the hearse and other shiny vehicles. She stood, not meeting their eyes, but moving forward toward the saxophone, the end of the dock, and the ashes of her dead lover.

           Sure, he was married, but he was hers in truth. She caught him first, yet it didn't matter anymore. She reached up and uncovered her wispy, gray hair, which was tied tightly in a knot at the nape of her neck.

           The funeral parade had long left, taking the black and leaving the white. She didn't move, but let her brown eyes move over the dark water below. Her head turned and she looked behind her. A whole lifetime had passed she lived it well. She focused her attention back on the Hudson, a smile playing on her lips.

           A white hat dropped beside her as fingers released it. "Bob, wait for me," the cool calm whisper escaped her lips and then she was gone. No splash, no ripple and no sound, but the mellow tone of the saxophone.