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“At one time in the world there were woods that no one owned.”
— Cormac McCarthy, Child of God

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Spring on Chestnut Top
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Spring on Chestnut Top

I long to lie in the thick apple moss, hemmed in by doghobble, leafy liverwort at my feet, lichen like a lacy pillow under my head, covered by a canopy of sugar maple and red buckeye, butterfly ghosts of beech leaves fluttering above. If I were very, very quiet, would I bear witness to the resurrection fern’s curls awakening? Could

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