A true testimony of a mother's protection and unconditional love. From The Season of Open Water, a beautifully written story by Dawn Clifton Tripp, much like prose, based in 1927~Westport, MA: "There are windows in her hands. Points in the hollow of the flesh where the lines cross that itch to open. When she unfolds her palms a certain way and turns them to the world, she can take in sounds, currents, temperature, light. She can take in the smell of the blossom off the apple tree. She can take in the intent under words. She can feel things that are not said. Now in the kitchen, she opens her hands slowly toward her son--a slight and unobtrusive gesture. She knows he will not notice. His mind is rattled, distracted, his face turned away; its sullen stubborn beauty, and through the windows in her palms, she can hear the grit between his thoughts. She can feel he is afraid."