The sky has gotten heavy, low-down, grumbling and fumbling with my day, and this morning a squirrel perched on the windowsill as I read aloud, as if he were listening to the story.

I wonder what he thinks of the changes to Chapter 4.

I dreamed last night of tiny jewel-toned tree frogs that rested on my pulse points, miniature sea creatures that had been dormant for years, coming to life in the creases of my days, and vulnerable wet things that begged to be saved.

In the…