Strong wind carried scents of Queen Anne’s Lace layered over freshly cut Rosemary. I was then a boy in search, but not aware if I would discover something worthy. I just knew the search was my quest.
Each day I asked myself why, but could not always put words behind the query so why hung as a suspended moment that enticed the need to search further.
Wandering through forests not yet tamed by metal dozers of economic promise, a falling leaf, a rustled branch, or sparkling water in a small pond I felt certain lay as an undiscovered find. Yet why remained elusive, like a shadow seen at noon not at midnight. I knew it would reappear at sunrise.
Silent examination, patience’s companion, rode my shoulder when I left nature’s protection as if it knew I needed advise, or guidance when passing along trails trod by many people before me.
There was deep meaninglessness to their civilized hast, a confusion of chatter fired out like static lines of invisible whys. I was not sure they cared for the answers, but rather sought a definition for escape. The people around me seemed to cling to the refuge their questions wove around them like a garden spider’s five-foot web.
The search walked me through childhood, carried me into manhood until confronted with an answer I did not anticipate.
In war, I expended ammunition at an often-unseen enemy while we both responded to the call of life. Why never left me, yet again never resolved, but the, silence after conclusion rang with repercussions. The why of war bridges reality and passes into severed spirit. The unseen blood left dripping is like the breeze bearing gifts of Queen Anne’s Lace and freshly cut Rosemary, impossible to recapture and hold on the palm of peace, but balances perfectly on a blade of thorn.
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