The lives of three very different people become interwoven when Pietro stops what he’s been doing, comes down off of his stilts, breaks down, and has to be put back together by Marguerite. Pietro is a Catholic priest, and Marguerite is a composer. Their meeting takes place in a chapel in Torino, Italy. Pietro has lost his one and only friend, six years ago. Petrified his heart will break, he’s refused to speak of it to anyone. That is, until the day comes when weird but apparently lovable Marguerite-every single day at nine o’clock sharp Marguerite-is standing in the right place at the right time to catch his heart’s unfolding and walk with it to someplace new. A voyage within a voyage. What Pietro has to say unfixes the gentle but musty coil of duct tape Marguerite had wrapped tenderly, angrily about her own ears long ago, even longer ago than Pietro’s tragic events. She wishes he’d stop. She barely knows him. He will not stop. Marguerite would have broken down if she’d heard this story a few years ago. Not today. Today it might cause her to erupt. Pietro should perhaps move out of the way. But no. This won’t be the throes of an awakening volcano, but the first primordial burp of a chick discovering its destiny as a songbird.