Author’s Note: It is only natural that I chose gray.

It was past the time for snow, but too early the vibrant colors of spring. It was the gray time: gris, as the French say.

It was the time for a miracle.

It was 1986, my grayest year. The year reason was that defied, and I, Grau, moved from New York to Washington state. As if that weren’t enough to make your thoughts sour, I moved to Cage, Washington. Population? 450. And that’s counting the people buried in Cage Memorial Cemetery.

My older brother Nigel and I found ourselves wandering across the myriad of lost crops and lost hopes that the town had to offer. That is, of course, until she came.