This is one of my favorite movie endings of all time. From “No Country for Old Men.” It doesn’t directly relate to the plot of the film, but it uses a reflection on the past as a way to imply hope for a hopeless future. The end of The Road (the novel, by the same author) carries a similar message, I think…
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
Sadly beautiful endings… And I wish I could use words like, “wimpled,” “torsional,” and “vermiculate,” like McCarthy does—effortlessly.
One of the best of all time.