From Kate Braverman’s “Small Craft Warnings”


From Kate Braverman's "Small Craft Warnings":

We entered the bay, and the wind was suddenly tame. It was the wind that returned after serious punishment, subdued and normal. We were on the cusp between seasons. I wanted my grandmother to live until spring. It occurred to me that there is no imprecision on the cusp between seasons. The zones surrounding seasons have their own identities, their own assurances, languages and passwords. This day the edges were elegant under a grainy pewter half-light that reminded me of a new razor. The place between actual seasons is filled with tiny roses in transition. There are murders and amputations in the garden. There are choirs on the sandy floors beneath oceans.