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  Khost, Khowst, Afghanistan
Wednesday, October 14, 2009

With death and despair so prevalent, this place, with it's keen sense of irony looming behind everything good - where shortly after commenting on the fine weather, a storm ensues - where silence is often discouraged by heavy arms fire bound for the hillsides.  In a place where abnormal reactions to abnormal situations are normal behavior, my mind is prone to drift towards a salient contrast of balance...

...life as I know it is, somewhere else.

To the lone melodic timbre of a rasping trumpet, marginal snowflakes descending from the Autumn nightfall, and a breeze only just mighty enough to induce leafless trees to a minor sway. 

I sit behind the wheel, pilot to a grounded flight, leisurely on my way to just before forever or maybe only tomorrow

...

.  Along the way, streetlights cast a sense of center stage on a notion that time has gone on sabbatical, and there is a suspicion that the unwritten speed limit would plainly read "a little slower still". 

In due course, my rest comes.  I don't exactly know where but someplace under the stars where silence is certain to stay awhile.  When the new dawn arrives on scene, I am here, back to this place, and it's okay.  All I needed was to strike that chord again - to have a dream (a glimpse) like that once more - my essential implementation to neutralize the muddling.  

  

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