CHAPTER 43
The dawn light was creeping into the backyard. First the silhouette of the forest separated itself from the night sky. The trees sought enough light to show their own boundaries and personalities, rocketing sugar maples, stout white oak, the old beech Amanda’s father had planted for the color of the dark red bark. In moments color would appear to adorn their outlines, but it was slow in coming. For the moment, the day was a thousand shades of gray.
No matter how many times Amanda had watched, she always missed the moment when middle gray shifted to grass green. Dull gray to amber leaves. The darkest black, the last to emerge, to the dusky forest pine.
Amanda huddled in the old Adirondack chair on the back porch. From here she looked down on Franconia Notch and up at the White
