Not everything makes sense, entirely — including what I'm about to share. We were traveling home tonight in the woods dark (darker than dark), on an off-shoot passage, gone 18 hours and rounding out the day, happy with one another, when I said, "You make a right at the wigwam." Yes, the wigwam. It's there, has been, in fact, for over a half-century. I remember it as a boy right there in the same place, never has moved. Late at night, with only two headlight beams, it's been our touchstone. It's name and word choice then reminded us of a song. Not just any song.
birch bark construct
