I must have passed by the open field that divides the provinces of Ontario and Quebec a thousand times. This Thanksgiving was no different when I looke out the passenger window towards the edge of the field where the tree line begins. My mind could probably play a slideshow of all the ways I've seen that highway-side in full bloom or with blowing snow. I later asked friends what they would call the small patch of trees or miniature woods that you would find stranded in the middle of a countryside field. I'm still in search for that perfect word.
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