When the sap is running There's a house on the corner where they tap the maple trees Three trees, one bucket for each There's another house where they used to tap the trees, but don't anymore I wish they did That was the house where they put out the metal buckets The house that still taps the trees uses plastic buckets, sky blue If the light is right, you can see the sap level through the plastic and watch it rise, surge even, from one day to the next It's fascinating really, to see how much sap is released from the tree With the metal buckets, you can't see the sap level, but I prefer them anyway Camouflaged against the bark of the tree and the still-bare landscape, they cast a knowing silhouette ... A reminder that, although it's hard to see, change is upon us Cool nights will give way to warmer days, the sap will flow, and the flowers will, once again blossom Makes me wish I had a maple tree -------- Branching out ... The maple sugaring poem is a modified version of a piece I wrote a while ago. It came to mind when I was thinking of making a pop-up book and needed something to pop. It's the next step in my book-making journey. Studying how to create a structure ... one that will open and close properly has me snipping, folding, and gluing long past my bedtime.
This is a prototype. Rough, inefficient, and utterly captivating. I'll keep you posted on how it's going.
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