The Clearing

The soldier crept through the woods in a clumsy fashion. He did not know exactly where he was. The trees reminded him of the forests of his home. There he was safe. Here he was not.

In his mind he still heard the cries of pain from his fellow troops he had left behind in the confusion of the battle. It was not his intent to desert them in their time of need. He had been overwhelmed by the sense of fight or flight, and he had chosen flight.

The soldier was young. Only nineteen. He had been lured by the promise of excitement, adventure, and money. Plus, if he served his time, he had promised a house and land near the town he was currently stationed. 

He stopped and knelt down. He reached for his canteen only to discover it was gone. Fear had parched his throat. He considered trying to lick the dew off the grass, but decided it was not worth the effort. Nervous sweat stung his eyes. He wiped his face with his free hand. His other hand gripped his

Questions.

What if my life is not successful? What is success? By whose definition? Wealth, power, position, land, house, cars?

What if my life is just to raise my children to be God fearing decent people who perform corporal acts of mercy quietly, without fanfare or acclaim? And that they raise their own children in turn to be and do the same? What kind of dreams and aspirations did my ancestors have? Did they ever wonder about the future generations they were laying the foundation for? What kind of future will my descendants have? Who will they marry? What kind of children will they have? What example will they be for the people they know and the world in general?

Is it really worth it all?

I would like to think so.

Misty Woods

They move with the mists that cling to the forest floor. They seem stuck in time. Always looking for their enemy. Always battling them in the mists. The forests hold their secrets. They are never really gone. A Vahalla with no feasting. Only combat. Endless, eternal combat. 

The Roman, the Hun, the Visigoth, the Viking, the Foot Soldier, the Knight, the Catholic, the Protestant, the German, the French, the English, and the American. The continuing conflict of two millenia. Never ceasing. Always the same ground. The same blood. The same tears.

They move with the mists. If you listen, you can hear them. If you can hear them, heed them.

Out Of The Box, But Not Yet Home

Finally got out of the training box for this round of intense army "training." Remember, many of the battalion commanders today were actually the officers who survived the downsizing of the Army after the 1st Persian Gulf War. Many of the very best leaders actually took the opportunity to leave then. Don't get me wrong, there are good leaders in the military today, but they are few. 

When I am out in the field and away from my phone or computer I tend to write in one of those everpresent "green books". Any vet will know what I am talking about. I write stories, essays, or just jot down ideas and concepts. 

I will post some of these in the future. I will start with a couple of short pieces.

New Year and the Dearth of Posts

It is another new year. The last year has been remarkable. There are changes coming both personally and in the world for the new year. There are new challenges, old fears, and old hates. You are your own first responder.

I have experienced writer's block for the last several weeks. I see things in the world that I want to comment on, but the words do not present themselves. It has been a bit frustrating. There will be continued little to no posting for the next month. My unit is again training, and I will not be near a computer. I might be able to post via my phone, but that is still an unknown.

We will trudge into our third year of the blog when I return. I thank you for your continued support and readership.

Until then.