It held sure from beyond the comfortably vacant seat next to me. Robert Frost could never have envisioned it as perfect as I experienced it. Ambiguous pronouns? No. The moment when everything is gold, the sun shines, breaking the crest of the horizon. Brief, fleeting, it’s a flash, a moment, and then it’s gone as swift as it came.
But not today. Not this morning.
As I fly back against circumstance – towards home, this sunrise holds a stunning chord in a timeless fashion. A golden glimpse, an era of perfection shines upon me as home becomes closer and closer.
I don’t worry about side chatter which has been ever present in my consciousness as of late. I think only that I, my men, and my family are a constant. And that I could never take this for granted. Two thirds of this war is over for us. It’s my turn for a break, and this I will thoroughly enjoy.
I close out part two of this journal knowing tragedy, but with a distance that keeps me able to grasp for hope. I endure vigilantly, where hope needs only men to feel, and no war can take this from them.
And though the day persists, I know we’re closer to tomorrow.
Hello Cincinnati. How are you?