Tonight, for the first Independence Day since moving to our 9th floor vantage point, the sky was clear and the breeze was gentle. We felt like the observers in the Gettysburg Church steeple July 3,1863. We fantasized that Pickett's Charge, the climatic conclusion of arguably the most important Civil War battle, had just commenced.
We heard booms of artillery in the mid-and-far distances. The sky was afire from a major battle ten miles due south at the National Mall. In a 160-degree arc anchored near the Mall’s Lincoln Monument, then snaking from D.C. through nearby Maryland suburbs up to Gaithersburg in the north were about eight smaller but intense battles. There were more intermittent skirmishes, probably in church and back yards.
While the smoke of war languidly floated toward us, a few low-hanging clouds were awash in the blazing glory of colorful explosions.
War, we are told, is hell. But on this very day, July 4, 2017, as nuclear Armageddon lurks just beyond the Pacific horizon, the fantasy of old fashioned death and destruction is breathtakingly beautiful.
No comments:
Post a Comment