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She had been the court stenographer
in the little village for two decades
when she disappeared into the mountains.

I was part of the search party that day.
Snow was pending and the bare branches
looked like mounted antlers on the canyon walls.

I walked with Glenn from White Moon Insurance
for hours through columns of shimmering firs
and over ponds frozen into opal tables

until, arriving at an overlook at dusk,
we heard the cracking of a hammer
echoing through the burnished valley
and saw what looked like the old judge
and twelve other men and women
pitching camp for the night.