Well, in spite of changing the entire point of view and voice of my story… I have still been having a bit of a hard time with the editing process; sort of overwhelmed because the whole thing needs a lot of work; exhausted and a bit burnt out because it’s taken me so long to get to this imperfect place… so I printed out the entire book dummy, clamped it together with brads and glue, and I am now taking it page by page. Consider it, if you will, the next level of intimacy. I know the book as a whole, but I feel like every inch needs to be examined. I need to know its toes. I need to know its fingers. Are there two eyes that see? A nose that breathes? What color is its hair, and where do I set the part? Straight down the middle? Slightly to the side? Every page exists as part of a whole, but also needs to stand on its own. One image with text. Turn the page. Another image, another set of words. Turn the page.
One page at a time: I can do this. I can sit at my back table, with my cup of water, and my daughter’s pencil. I can watch the sunflower seeds, in their tiny dixie cups, soak in the May sunshine, and together we can try to push out from under this inch-thick soil and breathe life into these words.
One page at a time: I can do this.
While Sylvie is at school it starts to rain. 
The snail tucks himself inside his shell (Don’t worry, snails are used to this sort of weather!)
He thinks about Sylvie whose hands were giant but gentle, and whose eyes were the color of warm soil and honey.
He felt at home in her eyes.
He waits. He watches the rain fall across the garden.
Somewhere out there, he thinks, is a special place for me. Sylvie will help me find that place.
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