Title:Alagash by Artist Murry Handler

We walked, almost without a sound through a world of beauty and serenity
The floor was all moss and pine needle, the sun blocked by the trees mingling of branches. Our footsteps made a faint hollow sound where the ground was bare with tree roots, like a knitted sweater along a worn deer path.

Flying into the Alagash Wildernesss this year I watched the familiar mountain peaks come and go. The ones that were close and I could see clearly, came and went quickly. Those distant mountains so difficult to see, stayed with my vision for a long while.
Below, the flowing artery of the Alagash River slipping through the many ponds and lakes connected to its necklace, looked like melted silver poured over a lush carpet of green.

(from my short story "PEOPLE ARE ANNUALS, THE LAND IS PERENNIAL")