"There is an old tale that speaks of the many mysterious creatures that inhabit such dark and murky, magical places. It is believed that just as the fog begins to rise from the viney plants, if you listen very closely, you may hear the otherworldy wail of the wild and wooly Heffalump calling for his long lost friends, the fairies to come and visit the neighboring gardens with him before the sun begins to ripen the berries for another day."
A description of a cranberry bog by my good friend Jeff Almeida, which best suits my memories of the Bog my sisters and I played in as children...
The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind.
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last updated January 21, 2000