to the difficult-to-find, but completely magical Angel Falls with water spraying, yes, like layerings of wings, down 70 feet into a small, refreshing pool. As I drove the back road up and over Mount Blue into the contained valley where you find the little town of Weld, I saw the hills and forests through the words of their poet, Henry Braun.
from Elizabeth W. Garber: Village Soup: A Year of Poetry from a Wealth of Maine Poets: After the rain, you can see the hills
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