Cedar Swamp
A sharp-tailed sparrow trills its strange torch song as I come tumbling out of the prickly rubbish, bleeding from a slew of shallow cuts and a handful of deeper ones. The ground swath here has changed from a footing of grass and stick to that of cone and needle as I step into a pine grove, where a massive granite boulder blocks my way. I begin climbing the rock, no doubt left behind from the retreating Wisconsin glacier that helped form the Cape ten thousand years ago, along with the wind and the waves.
Reaching the summit, I squat on my haunches and survey the grove that responds like a cathedral, the boughs of the trees acting as arches with the quietness within recalling that of a church’s nave. I try to imagine an Indian brave doing the same hundreds of years ago. Would h
