Omtale fra forlaget
Omtalt sted Connecticut
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The piano keys are black and white but they sound like
a million colors in your mind.
In the middle of a crisis, time is viscous. You swim through it so slowly you cannot tell if you're living or reliving each awful moment. You can see your hands doing the work, ministering, as if they do not belong to you. You hear voices climbing a ladder of panic, and it all becomes one deafening, discordant note.
Babies are such blank slates. They don't come into this world with the assumptions their parents have made, or the promises their church will give, or the ability to sort people into groups they like and don't like. They don't come into this world with anything, really, except a need for comfort. And they will take it from anyone, without judging the giver.