Tthe tone in every poem, and in the closely fitting entire volume, comes like songs on the breezes of the various seasons, where we are blessed by a genuine and believable optimism once again.
Last week, on the eve of the deepest chill and wind chill of the season, I reached into reserves of dogged determination to secure my harvest of fennel, dill, peppers, French sorrel, amaranth and most of the turnips.
