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RED
WHITE
AND
BLUE
A Tribute to Our Soldiers
The colors of the American flag ripple above as
the winds toss and snap it, demanding my attention. I gaze at it in awe
as it waves proudly against the cobalt sky. Mesmerizing colors melt and
swirl together until they are one. They quickly reform with the next
breeze.
My mind journeys back in time as I watch
it. Red might be the blood lost in battle so we could have our freedom.
Blue could be the blue-eyed soldier standing on the battlefield ready to
give his life for ours. White may be the color of angels who ultimately
guide our nation’s heroes to the next and final frontier. A frontier
where there are no battles.
Highways and bi-ways moan and groan
under the weight of thousands of motorists as they journey home in a
never ending rhythm of gleaming steel and metal. Malls full of shoppers
haggling over goods and rushing to sales. The farmer plowing a field in
endless rows, praying for rain. The roar of the buses and trains and
planes. Tiny windows glittering amber light within the towering
skyscrapers overlooking it all. Our land. Our freedom. Our country.
Home after home I passed, as I
commuted to my destination. Maybe someone in that endless row lost a
father or brother or son or even a daughter. A life given so I could
have mine. A century of lives given so we could have futures.
Thousands of soldiers who now lie
forgotten in cemeteries washed away by time. Granite markers long gone,
their names crumbled away by the winds and the sun and the rains. The
once dotted hillside no longer carries the scars of their fight for
ours. Wounds of battle long gone, only rolling fields of meadow grass
dotted with the occasional wildflower, rippling in the silent winds.
The same winds that whip the flag above me.
I gaze at the flag as people hustle
by. They rush back and forth, reminding me of a million ants in an ant
farm. One day a year set aside to remember them. One day. A day off
work which has become a day for many to lie in the sun at the beach, or
indulge in an enormous meal of BBQ and beers with family and friends.
Laughing the day away, with nary a thought of what may well lie below
their polished shoes.
Day after day they fought for us,
year after year. Battle after battle was won, so we’d have a home to
come home to, and food to sup. So we could have malls and trains and
buses and planes. So we could indulge in the frivolities of existence
The rip of a bullet meets flesh in
a far away country. A heart is broken stateside. A life forever
changed. A child without a father, a father without a son.
I shed a tear to the beat of drums
in the distance, as the majestic flag is lowered. It is carefully folded
by two misty-eyed soldiers while dozens of watery eyes watch in hushed
melancholy. They slowly march to the grieving widow, and solemnly
present it to her in unison. Her dark glasses hide her misery. Another
life forever changed. Another life given so we could have ours.
The sun is setting on my meager home when
I return. Golden hues gently light the familiar weathered wood and
sagging sills. But today, somehow, it looks different. It looks better.
It is a home that the soldiers built. Maybe not by hand, but definitely
by spirit. A home within a city, within a state, within a great
country. A country the Eagle proudly soars over, an icon of remembrance
of the sacrifices made for our land, for our homes, for our freedom, for
our very existence.
I will make it a pact to remember the
soldiers, and thank them for what they have given us, every day.
This
story is dedicated to the soldiers, both past and present, who have
fought for our freedom.
Copyright
2011
Shelley Madden is an author who resides in Wise
County, Texas, along with her ponies, poultry, dogs and cat. She enjoys
writing, fishing, shooting her pink guns, and falling off her horse,
Diamond. She writes a weekly column for an entertainment magazine, is a
guest columnist for a local paper, and is a frequent contributor to
Heartwarmers and Petwarmers. Her short stories have also been published
on numerous websites and e-zines across the nation. She aspires one day
to learn how to change the light bulb in her gun cabinet.
Shelley
Ponies
on Parade Farm
Wise Co., Texas
Don't give up on dreams, someday they'll all come true
Don't ever sell your saddle, your dreams won't give up on you.....
http://pets.groups.yahoo.com/group/Cowgirlsandcowchips/
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