Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Is that all?
All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.
The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
It was the damnedest thing, life. Once you decide exactly how things are going to go, something or someone comes along and messes it all up.