Where do we go he asked looking at the black and white photo of a little girl long dead whose name no one recalls. And I paused because I almost didn’t have the answer until I remembered. She is in the rain she taught her daughter or friend to love, who taught her daughter and so on and even though her name isn’t remembered, she is in the rain. 

She is in the air and the smell of cornbread stuffing on a thanksgiving recipe long passed down from… who was that again?  But she’s in the air. 

Maybe she is in the smile on the round toothless face of a child who will never know her name, but there she is, in her smile.