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.