WALKING ALONG the stream at dawn
WALKING ALONG the stream at dawn, I notice the spider webs—exquisite webs, hundreds of them, every stunted jack pine or ground juniper gilded with a necklace, each necklace hung with lucent pearls of dew. And, whispering in the first breeze, an old question of the night: What of MY webs? What are my choices, my chances; how much effort should
