Things haven’t been the same since your rabbit died, and all week long your daughter wakes during the night, crying. Sometimes she’s wide awake but other times she’s rooted deeper in her dreams, calling out for her Bunny, yelling at the wolves.
You’ve tried all sorts of things to ease her mind – monster spray and flashlights and night lights – with no luck. So tonight you make her a dream catcher while she plays in the bath.
You are nine again, sitting at your mother’s kitchen table, tying on feathers and beads. You are thirteen, important, teaching the younger campers how to weave their webs. You are all the ages and all the times you put up a talisman to ward against the dark. It’s wire and ribbons and magic and string. You hope it works.
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