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Copyright 2009 by Steve Wheeler

Smashwords edition

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The early morning sun threw light grey lines across glistening snow. Perfect straight lines beginning at the base of the maple forest, marching in order onto the white beaver meadow, breaking into smaller patterns of frozen fingers.

Rob Mclean shivered in the wind as he pulled his boots through the crusty snow. He carried two overflowing wooden buckets of maple sap suspended from a shoulder harness which had been carved from a single piece of wood. The comfortable semi circle in the middle of the yoke fit snug on his neck. The weight of the sap was distributed evenly across his shoulders.

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