Larger Blue Flag, chervil, harebell, white yarrow. Shortly out
on the trail from Cape Spear to North Point I trip. A small
boulder bites off a corner of the crown Dr. Adams cemented
to my right incisor in 1966. The cuts and swelling in my lips
give them a ’20s vamp’s shape. When I can take the box of frozen
apple juice off my face, tour guide Loyola and I walk to the
easternmost point of North America. “What’s been the worst
accident you ever had to deal with on an outing?” I ask. “Yours.”