Kame Terraces, Salisbury

Once rivers limined the stone mountains with gravel and sand. Below, the ice-blocked valley; across, the wild flow of melt.

Three kinds of oak. Witch hazel and teaberry undergrow the logged-over never-plowed land.

So much time, yet not enough time.

I want to be like a river on the edge of the ice— letting go as I can, holding whatever I must hold.