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Back on the Road
For Annie, and for Donner
The tires hum low on the blacktop hymn,
a rhythm I've known, a trail grown dim.
But now it sings anew once more—
with a brindle shadow at my door.
Annie sniffs the morning breeze,
a wag, a leap, a dance with trees.
She doesn't know the ghost that stays
in quiet corners of the days.
We've come again to Shenandoah's bend,
where river, sky, and pines transcend.
Where once a noble shepherd lay
beside this fire at close of day.
Donner, bold and wise and true,
each path I take still carries you.
Your prints, though faded, lead me still
past silent peaks and over hill.
And now this pup with eager grace
runs headlong into your old place.
She doesn't fill your space—not quite—
but brings her own new kind of light.
So here we are: a man, a pup,
a trail once traveled, now re-struck.
The road rolls out, the stars lean in—
old friend, new heart, and wheels that spin.
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