The quiet opened and revealed the end of the Nob, which seemed to widen with each paddle stroke as it nudged its shoulders toward Chesuncook; the end of the trip, the final night. The sound of phones and traffic, nines & fives, un-raked leaves and the burden of watches and noise of motors arrive, the machinery of everyday life, all seemed closer now, and our beers were warmer than the water we fought through on our way towards Gero Island. The quiet was heavy until it was ripped through.......
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