“By the time we’re done setting them up, the first bucket is already singing a different tune, the plink of another drop into the half inch of sap. All day long they change pitch as the buckets fill, like water glasses of different pitch. Plink, ploink, plonk—the tin buckets and their tops reverberate with every drop and the yard is singing. This is spring music as surely as the cardinal’s insistent whistle.” from “Maple Sugar Moon”, in Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer
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