from my "words" site:
Michael Rosen grew up at the end of a Vermont dirt road at the bottom of a hill at the end of the 1960s - with a little poetic license. That road ran across a pretty fast river, past a sugar shack, a field with a solitary white horse, up a hill, around and then down to his parents' house.
Michael Rosen
An older, narrower, abandoned road ran through the land, wide enough for a wagon, lined on one side by a stonewall perfectly built. A sheep farm had been there once, a visitor explaining that the stone and earthwork rising to what was like two checker squares touching at their corners was a shelter for sheep to push against during a storm coming from any direction.
Mic