Is it enough to listen to tide and watch water fowl hunt off a rock that looks like a whale beached at low tide? A summer of grief, unexpected and cutting, and in its wake I feel myself shifted, expanded in my course.

I hear a goose call and worry about her goslings, still learning to swim and dive. They start with a long trail of babies, but only two or three make it through a hungry, arid summer. Seals and whales below, eagles and hawks above—seeking respite is complicated.