Winds are blowing and moisture is in the air and I welcome the shift, even as the sun spends less time in my skies.
Seasons change and we need them to, despite our aches and desires.
Still, the quiet voice always whispers.
"Go, dog, just follow the sun. Run."
But not this year. This is a year for home.
@djsundog I read this as poem as much as story.
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