5.29.11 Bad News

The piano tapped out its melancholy tune in the corner almost oblivious of the old musician sitting beside it. But its heartbreaking melody was only second on my mind for my eyes were riveted instead on the two men by the fireplace. They spoke rapidly in hushed tones, one held a piece of crumpled paper between them. Then suddenly the ballroom went silent, the dancers swirled in slow motion, and the lights dimmed. They turned toward me and I shivered in my seat. My hands were shaking, spilling red punch on my gloves. They frowned. One of them was crying.

5.15.11 Not What It Seems

With all of the horrid accounts circulating nowadays, you would think that wars were fought in grey places with misty mellow hills and skies stuck in some intermediate place between sun and dark. You would think there would be gloomy clouds and frigid weather, blowing winds and freezing rain. Perhaps fog that lies upon the ground waiting to choke someone. Perhaps overhanging bushes reaching out snag preoccupied stragglers. Perhaps war is one never ending night with stars no longer shining. Perhaps there is no light.

But no.

I’m fighting in the same sunshine that the children play in back home.