Ashes

The four-year-old threw the stick for the dog, the stick barely arcing away but the dog didn’t care, any stick was joy and the tide inched in over the weeds, filling the places between, the low bellies of sand and broken shell. We were waiting for the ashes in a pot with a cork in the top, and the wind was right, the ashes would blow like ribbons, disappearing as all the pieces came together by coming apart. From up on the rocks, flags of after-smoke shaken free, and the dog down on the sand waiting, eager to chase and return whatever anyone offered.