A mature woman searches her own memories looking for signs of her own personality. She accepts the gains and losses that come with the passage of time. She knows how to distinguish what can be asked of life and what cannot. She has learned to pull her chestnuts out of the fire. She takes on the absence of those who are missing. She does not believe in the absolute value of love, although she grants him one last chance. She knows the hopes and fears of other women. She has preserved a touch of irony. And she finds in her solitude the energy to keep on growing. Sometimes, she has to make a bonfire, watching the wind so that whatever was still beneficial does not harm her. This is what the protagonist of these twenty-one stories is doing: burning, by means of writing, the bones accumulated throughout her life. Because to writing is to burn stubble. A ritual fire, of course: no writing can burn life.