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Smoke rising from distant blue ridges,
Dark green treetops as far as can be seen.
Two felled trees form the bridges,
Onward the trail continues in between.
From the green summit of Bear Mountain,
Looking southward toward Brassy Brook Shelter,
Smoke spews skyward, as if from a fountain,
And skirls around the sky, helter-skelter.
The morning is early, the air has a chill.
Hikers preparing for the morning trek
Have lit a bonfire, just for a thrill,
And to warm their bones, if just a speck.
Northward they travel. Mount Everett, Jugs End.
Salisbury, Pine Cobbles, finally Mount Greylock.
Vermont must be just round the bend.
Like ants they continue. Like sheep in a flock.
One thousand five hundred seventy miles
From Springer, spirits are not sodden.
On their faces you can see the smiles.
Only five hundred seventy more miles to Katahdin.
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