I woke to collect any sap to come after the prior tipping.
That's when the snow began to fall.
Two hundred fifty six ounces of sap, nearly fluid as water, and hardly sweet.
And the snow continued to fall.
The sap continued to boil, scenting the kitchen with caramelized sugar.
And as the snow began to accumulate
the sap grew thicker and thicker.
Nearing one fortieth the volume, it left the pot for the filter.
When it was over, four inches of snow
and eight sweet ounces of maple syrup.