I spun this out through the space of a winter yet I finished it early. It was a pleasure having Madeleine somehow present every morning. I confess, though, that Luci Shaw mostly leaves me cold. She has some jarring metaphors that really do not fly. Next to Madeleine she falls flat -- except for the poem equating snow with the "salt of the Lord". I enjoyed that one, and it often reconciled snow to me, making it a cleansing thing.
(review written March 1999) ( )