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By The Salmon River
1–2 minutesThe water pulls in all directions, folding and unfolding, layered with white foam that spreads like spider-webs. It flickers against the cedar trees, painting dappled sunlight over their trunks, bathing them in the same milky quality as light threaded through fog. And on the shore there are fine-haired stalks of cow parsnip, and spiraled bracken
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Balsamroot Hill
1–2 minutesThe wind folds through the grass, turning it over, sculpting it, and, if you listen closely, you can hear the grass as it bends. In the distance there is the ever-present hum of the river, a muffled noise pressing in on you from somewhere far off, somewhere beyond the crest of the hill, and in
