The secret of maple country

Drill, at winter's First hint of relaxing, Holes in a ring Every eight inches Around the maples, Beads on a string. Tap. Sap Plinks into tins, Plonks into plastic, Splashes and spills Till poured to a pan And boiled over woodflame, Forty clear gallons Down to one with the pale Gold shivering sweetness Of sun on snow. So While the nights stay cold. Spring Clouds the issue.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK