Finding Her Feet in a Rough Spring by Mercedes Lawry Pastoral and less than full, moon, her grief, coddled as it is in grass fields. She could hide and watch bees, wait for stings to stop her heart. Amen, amen, mark of a plethora of days in chalky dust. Ruins of only minor interest with weeds between stones, statuary lies, historical falsehoods. She read a dozen stories in the course of several hours and became calm. Wide open spaces offer comfort, not much of a worthy word, closer to oatmeal, pillow, broth. Nothing you might apply to a crow or his cawing that always sounds perturbed and she likes him for it. Gyroscope Review 12 !