It was terribly nice today. Does that make sense? Terribly nice. This nice day wasn't terrible though. I went with my family and we drove to the gorge and had a picnic. I spent most of the day reading like I usually do but I did take the time to enjoy the sun while doing so and the seventy-five degree perfect weather. I think I am ready for it to be a bit warmer though.

So anyway we went to Benson State Park and aside from reading I wandered around the creek and the railroad tracks. It was a good day to follow a night of sitting around in a hot tub and reminiscing about the past and how silly we all "used to be". We're still silly we're just the grown up sort of silly that is labeled carefully as "outgoing" to keep us from sounding like we're still children. Which of course we are not and we would be greatly offended to be called so, right? What's so bad about being a child?

I'm eager for the rest of the month. For the rest of my life.

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He used to take great pride in knowing exactly where he was and exactly what he was fighting for. But over the few years this man had spent in the service of his half of the country he had lost that drive. Pride was something he only vaguely remembered having once. What did it feel like? Killing was killing now. It didn't suddenly bother him but it no longer thrilled him in the same way. It was all very mechanical and he hardly paid attention to the dying faces of the men he ended when he did so anymore. Perhaps one day his face would look the same. He didn't need to study it to wonder. He had seen this face enough to last him a lifetime and it had burnt itself into the back of his mind. There it rested and as the burn healed it became a part of him like any other scar.

And, oh, the scars! There were plenty of those. He had worked his way up from the fairly lower ranks to where he was now, sitting high on his horse with his hat tipped gently over his eyes on the top of a knoll, watching the enemy from the shadow of his brim. One hand was on his saber and the other gently held the reins that he used to guide his great black mare. But she need little guidance anymore. She was a warrior just as surely as he was and charging into battle had become instinct to man and beast alike. But not yet. Now was the time for waiting. War was war, brutal and unforgiving, and yet it was all so orderly. Attacks were planned, a sort of joint effort between both sides, and agreed upon. Battles were a little bit like a gathering for tea time. Only instead of sharp and vicious tongues and glances the object here was to avoid a blade or bullet. Nor where they exchanging words like ladies might, instead exchanging blows.

His darkened hazel eyes shifted momentarily to the side to the young man on his right. He was surely too young to be a soldier. Perhaps the man's eyes were playing tricks on him. Perhaps he had lost all sense and the ability therefore to judge the proper age to throw your life away to the hunger. That was what it really was. A hunger that could only be fed by the chance to prove oneself. Or a thirst that could only be sated by blood. His eyes snapped forward again. He could feel the dryness of his mouth and the aching in the pit of his stomach. He could hear the nervous stamping of hooves and rustling of belted weapons. Now was the time, he thought, as the sun beat down on his shoulders and warmed the gray wool of his uniform. Now was the time to lead the charge. And he was a leader because he was born one. Once he had wanted to be. Now he was nothing else save a soldier. Drawing out and unsheathing his weapon he thrust it into the air and let out a cry. Some practiced set of words that he didn't even comprehend anymore. They were propelling forward.

Perhaps to death.

Perhaps to victory.

Perhaps to both.

-J