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knobbled roots push through the old road

down below, the stream

and ducks looking vaguely like old shoes floating

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I walked near my house and in a corner of suburbia came across a road that was made more than a century ago – only a portion unburied by the years, rugged with scoria. A new bridge escorts it now across a stream and on up beneath pines which must have been planted about the time the road was built. If in any place time was stretched thin, it would be there.

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