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Updated: Jul 10, 2020


Fat white-gray clouds on blue beyond the rugged pine shores, east beyond Indian and Wolf Mountains, west beyond Chaumont Swamp and Twin Mountain, north beyond Bear Mountain in the saddle of Cranberry Lake, south beyond Five Ponds and Deer Mountain, gone before we round the point at The Narrows, headlong into the wind, pulling water on both sides of the canoe.


Nameless stream, a whisper among boulders and tree roots, a tired whisper after the dam holding an acre-sized beaver pond breached, let loose a river from up the mountain, straightening the meandering curves of this small seam, bounding, fanning wide into the moss, fern, rock and pines before circling back and rushing on.

From the relative depths of a dark cut beneath a knot of exposed birch roots, an eager brook trout attacks my fly. Bright gem catching a glint of sunlight in this almost accidental universe. Large in the large scheme of things.

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