Walking by the lake, I lose an earring and don’t even notice it at first, overwhelmed as I am by the strangeness of everything. Blocks later, my hand reaches up to feel that slight absence in one ear. So then I have to retrace my steps, as they say to do, past the guy jogging with his mask pulled down and the hijab-wearing, stroller-pushing young mother in stylish jeans and the homeless man emerging from his tent on the banks of our urban oasis bearing a boom box on one shoulder. And that’s where I spot it, lying on the sidewalk, miraculously untrampled — small, precious found thing, a turquoise oval encircled with rows of beads, given to me with love by someone I haven’t hugged in more than a year. Tiny rescue from the sea of loss, just as we seem to have found a raft to grab on to in the wake of a shipwreck so vast we cannot yet imagine the end of it.