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red winged blackbird

My arrogant stupidity ended this beautiful life

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My Uncle Ed ran a bar in Ellsworth, and in the early fifties bought a cabin on Toddy Pond. Nine miles long and a mile across, it had only a few cabins at the end of a long road. There was a beach with white pines on both sides, and the fir and balsam forest behind it stretched a hundred miles to Machias and the Canadian border. Blue Hill rose above the far end, and in early mornings every tree and stone and meadow on the mountain lay inverted on the lake’s silver surface. Moose wandering the shallows stood on their own reflections, and trout made perfect circles as they rose for flies. Mallards patrolled the shore dabbling and quacking, their tails…

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