The Springs of Creve Coeur (Paperback)

Air With Woodwind: He is sitting in front of the open window and the wind is riffling his white soft hair. He is breathing the scent of the fields, the spring fields; it is what he knows. He has known the fields from childhood, they are his country, his fatherland. They are the smell of growing, of foals and lambs, of loam and hay, of bacon and bread, mother and father and church on Sunday; the fields are his great wide house of windows and are full of books. Where he sits easy I catch his eye, clear as the fresh wind that drifts between us, we, in his fine wide house of fields green as tomorrow and his other spring. This poem was written for Anne Turner's father, and encompasses her life and art as well as his. Her strong images and Irish muse are rooted in that legacy.