THE OTHER TRACKS
I walk the same line every night. Out past the last fence, up through the draw, back along the creek. Same route, same hour, so by morning the snow holds one trail, and it's mine.
T...
Damian. You said send the next one. It's up: THE OTHER TRACKS. One trail in the snow, a promise somebody means to come back. Then tracks crossing it, at an angle, and nobody says out loud what it means. Your read, if you still have it. 🌕
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