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TO reach my pond you must leave your canoe 

 on the shore of Sungeegamook, the home 

 lake, and go eastward through the big woods. 

 Yonder is the landing, that bank of green topped 

 by "everlasting" and blue asters, with a cleft like 

 an arched doorway in the forest behind it. A 

 rugged jack-pine leans out over a bit of shingle, 

 as if to indicate a good place to beach your canoe, 

 and there is something curiously alive, almost 

 sentient, in its attitude. The old tree seems to 

 watch your approach; through its leaves runs a 

 low murmur of welcome as you step ashore. 



Entering the woods (and because you are alone, 

 and therefore natural, something in their dim 



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