As a native of Colorado and a first-generation American, Jane Greensmith instinctively looks west. All her life, layers of blue mountains have shaped her horizon, and the endless prairie ends at her home in the foothills of the Rockies. Sometimes her mountains are swathed in snow, sometimes they’re dry and desolate. But they’re always enchanting. They dictate the wind and the weather. They magnetize and electrify lives. They hold a promise of riches and are a great equalizer. They are unforgiving. They are fragile.
Her stories are shaped by her landscape. Whether she writes of Regency England or Boulder, Colorado or places and spaces in between, she retells the myths born out of living in a land of little water and great beauty. She believes the landscape of the mind is formed by one’s physical landscape, and therein lies the soul of her tales.
Maybe it’s been too long since I read most of Jane Austen’s novels. I don’t remember all of the characters and few of the details, so I think I may have not been the best audience for this book. Out of the collection only two really struck me. The first, “Rainbow Around …