Isola

by Allegra Goodman

But even as I found the ring, I felt Claire’s loss. And, delighted as I was, I knew she would have enjoyed my discovery more. God’s will was what she would have seen, while I credited the melting snow. What would have been a miracle for her was for me a change in weather. If I had starved in winter or frozen on the ice—even then, this ring would have revealed itself, glinting in the sun without me.

I watched the sea and thought, You know nothing of me and care nothing, but you delight me. I considered the waves and thought, You are another riddle. What is constant and ever-changing? Who confines and consoles at the same time?