Shades of gray, blue, white on this Tuesday evening rounding my lakeshore loop, the daily walk in pursuit of solitude, in flight from loneliness, soothed somewhat by the ripples on water, the echo of the lakefill pond with a few yards’ margin between it and the vasty lake that seems to go on forever but stops, I know, in Michigan. Boulders piled to no apparent purpose, like a clumsy metaphor for the haste to come out of shutdown with no actual cure in sight. I match my stride to Bach’s third Brandenburg Concerto, its ritornello climbing through registers resembling redemption.