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He calls it running
toward the light. He is jogging along the bend where the big gray
rock rears up on his right flank. Now the road straightens,
tunneling between close-standing sugar maples on either side. Leafy
branches nearly touch overhead; they form a canopy that shelters as
it darkens. It is early morning; after a night of spring drizzle,
miniature dots of moisture cling to leaves and tree trunks. The sun,
peeping above Miller's Needle to the east, angles a shaft of light
through the tangle of elderberry and sumac up ahead, just beyond the
passageway through the trees. Tiny specks of crystal shimmy in the
cool air, as the light goes to ground in a splash of gold.
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