When the tide goes out, the shore presents objects that did not need our attention before: a rope, a bucket, a letter never sent, a key without a lock. They are not answers. They simply make it harder to pretend that an ending has fully gone away.

This issue follows that moment. Its writers do not arrange grief into a lesson. One enters an old house with a ring of keys. One inventories the clutter of a move. One boy hears his mother say “I don’t know” for the first time. One watchmaker continues his day while a street prepares to disappear.

There is no required order for these things. Some people sort before they understand. Some remain angry while they sort. Some leave a light on and call that enough. For now, read what the shore has left behind.