Tonight, at Aquatic Park in Berkeley, peace activists gathered to fold "paper cranes" in memory of those who perished at Hiroshima and Nagasaki 64 years ago this week.
Each artist drew messages of hope and love and peace. My ten-year-old daughter picked a bright golden color for her lantern.
Once launched, the lanterns followed currents and breezes out into the estuary.
Most of them grouped together, creating a lovely scene.
My lavender crane chose to separate from the fleet to come ashore on the rocks, rather to my embarrassment, but one of the volunteers got it to rejoin the group, ending my "failure to launch" moment.
As the sun sank behind us, the candles inside the lanterns cast a lovely glow over the waterfront.
As darkness settled in, I thought about my parents on this weekend when had I hoped to be able to go to Michigan, where I would have been able to honor their memories at another body of water in another type of ceremony.
Tonight, instead, I was able to participate in a ceremony of remembrance of all humanity's common hope for world peace, so I incorporated my parents' memories into this event.
I'm quite sure they would have approved.
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