A week can carry a quiet grief for a connection to your own line that's been lost — a person gone, a story untold, a thread you can't pick back up.

Pale silver and blue-white, a remembering violet. It has the cool of still water and the faint scent of white flowers and night air.

Grief for a lost connection can have nowhere to go, no rite to hold it. It summons no one back — it holds a still place to honor what's lost from your own line, in your own way and with respect.