“Trail Dust and Grace”
(A frontier poem)
The wind was moanin’ through the pines that night,
Snow dust driftin’ in the firelight,
And me—just sittin’ by the flame,
Whisperin’ low my old dog’s name.
He’d been my shadow, trail to trail,
Through rain and snow, through sleet and hail.
Never judged, never spoke much,
Just walked with me—his soul said such.
We’d shared our beans, our hunts, our prayers,
Our lonely dreams beneath the stars.
Now his bed by the stove’s grown cold—
And Lord, that silence feels so old.
I talked to Jesus by the creek today,
Said, “Lord, You took my friend away.
I ain’t mad—just lost, You see,
He was the last good part of me.”
The breeze picked up, the branches swayed,
And somehow peace began to braid
Its quiet way around my chest—
Like Jesus sayin’, “Son, just rest.
Your hound’s not gone, he’s run ahead,
Across the ridge where souls are led.
He’s waitin’ there where trails don’t end,
By Heaven’s gate, your faithful friend.”
That night I watched the embers glow,
Thought of pawprints in the snow,
And I swear I heard that old dog sigh—
Just one more bark against the sky.
So I keep walkin’, me and Him—
Through canyon dark and ridgelines dim.
Christ beside me, steady and true,
And my old dog’s tracks—just one ridge through.
When my own trail winds down and ends,
I’ll see my Lord—and my old friend.
We’ll strike camp high, where rivers run,
And ride forever toward the Son.
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