2008 Sitting in the waiting room in New York, I met a war veteran.
He proceeded to tell me the proudest moment in his life.
Marching in Germany, he passed a ditch and 2 frightened faces looked up at him.
He stopped marching and brought the children to camp and took care of them.
He was stripped of his ranks and medals.
She says "Here he goes again"
Remembering the chance encounter, I've often wondered about the stories of the soldiers of my generation. Have counter strike rendered us mechanical or is that a projection of the "days gone by"?
Mayhap the beauty of the past is a record left behind that is tangible and sensuous.
A memory in response to reading this article