Drinking maple syrup, takes me back. I ran a small farm in Shelburne Vermont years ago. Sugaring was my favorite time of year. I loved drawing off the nearly clear first syrup of the year and drinking it warm and later ice cold. Loved the later runs, dark as buckwheat honey. Loved this poem for those qualities too. Light with streaks of darkness or is it the other way around?



Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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