Another gust of wind whips through the courtyard blowing out the flame of the little yellow candle in her hand.
She walks over to the big oil pot that holds a larger flame that somehow remains lit even when hers flickers and dies.
Once lit the candles are to be placed at the feet of the one hundred and five foot Buddha in the tiny courtyard that surrounds one of many temples in Thailand.
With each trip back to the oil pot she lights her small candle and watches the tiny flame flicker to life only to be extinguished time after time by a sudden breeze.
Try as she might, she can not keep her little candle lit.
It seems a fitting metaphor...
It is November 4th 2001.
In the aftermath of September 11th, she has become obsessed with the notion that here in this place she can somehow conquer her pain and her sadness but most of all, her fear.
Now here she is at Buddha's feet, struggling to keep her tiny flame alive.
She walks back to the large blackened pot with the steadily burning flame and places the wick of the little candle into the fire and watches as its small flame comes to life once again.
For a moment it twitches in the breeze but to her surprise this time it remains aglow.
Once again she walks to the feet of the Buddha.
She kneels down and puts her little candle with all the others that have been placed there, its little flame bright and determined ...
and she breaths.