Jag läser ett kapitel i Wallace och Page Stegners bok "American Places"- kapitlet som har titlen "North-East Kingdom".
"The day is balmy , the breeze fitful and soft; shadows of fairweather clouds darken me and pass on. It is the kind of day I remember best from our summers here, the high blue weather full of earth smells and grass smells, the dew still glittering off daisies and paintbrush and buttercups and bending grass, the sweet tang of strawberries on the tongue, and the expansive sense of work to be done, things to be built. I remember the nights, too: how we used to squirt a flashlight beam out our gable window and pan it slowly around the blackness of surrounding woods, and pick up the eyes- a pair here, a pair there, green, golden, waiting. There never was a darkness more impenetrable, a wilderness more patient."