Fluttering in the Breeze

Fluttering in the Breeze         

By John W. Vander Velden

 

 

In the shade of fabric fluttering in the breeze beneath the morning sun in crystalline blue sky, a child stands stone faced and erect.  The white gloved hand of a young man, dressed in dark blue crouched upon his haunches, looks into the boy’s eyes.  The brim of his white hat shades clear earnest eyes as he shares words.  Words heard by no others.  Words of courage.  Words of honor.

Eyes watch the boy that one day will remember the words meant for him alone.  Remember the man he met first that day.  Remember the blue uniform and the gleaming brass buttons.  Remember the flag fluttering half way up the pole.  But most of all he will remember the pain and the loss.

Standing alone among the stones in ordered rows, a woman in black holds a sacred cloth folded.  The triangle shows a field of blue and white stars.  She lowers her head as drawing the flag to her breast, tears flow as the thoughts come again.  Thoughts of respect.  Thoughts of courage.  Thoughts of sacrifice

The woman will never forget the telegram, the words that each military wife dread.  Nor the men at her door, so young and tall that placed into her hands such small metal tokens.  Nor forget the pain which had driven her to her knees.

And we – that stand on the sidelines, as the flag flies but halfway up the mast -- must never forget those that paid the price in our stead.  Too easily we turn away.  Too easily we overlook the others that must face each day changed.  Those that have given the ultimate, but also the others left behind, whose lives must be lived around the gaping hole of their absence.

Shall we not live our lives to honor those that so willingly offered themselves for this country?  For with their actions they strove to make this world a better place for us all.  Or shall we allow the carefully prepared speeches to be nothing more than words fluttering upon the breeze…

(343 Words)