She washes up on the frozen riverbank, shivering from the cold and the desolation in herself. The tide lifts her – jingling with shells and sharks’ teeth — wedges her under clods of leaves. She stares up at the leafless trees, recognizes nothing, holds her breath. She’s listening for the sound of stealth. A muskrat scrambles over the ice, his right front paw chewed to a stump. The woman’s eyes follow him, shift to the color and emptiness of long rain. She huddles into herself. …maybe what I do won’t be enough….