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Adirondacks, NY. A light chop moved the lake, a hand's width after sunrise. I stood before the ruins of some small trees, long gone, weathered and mossed. Like the prow of a ship, it pointed me across the water, between the islands, to the far shore, but offered me no way to get there. I suppose there are two types of people: those who see the distance and want to go, and those who are content staying where they are. Once, on a trip to Acadia, I liked the view from the southern end of Jordan Pond so much that I set off and hiked around it, anticipating all the great views. There were none...it was a slog in the woods and a swampy shore; I was already at the best place. I don't know why I'm drawn to the promise, but often enough, I am let down when I get there, and find out that up close, it's ugly. My curiosity, my need to know will win out. But not today, so soon after my last disappointment.
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