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pecuniumBack in April of last year, at LSA Dogwood, WSW of Baghdad I woke one morning, from some completely innocuous dream and saw the edge of my cot, and the hazy (for lack of glasses) dust beyond it.
"Fuck, "I'm still here."
This morning, somewhere in the middle hours (say 0800) I woke for a moment, and thought, "I'm home," and went back to sleep.
Say that word with me... Home.
I left the theater last July, sick as sick could be. Germany was sublime, DC was incredible, convalescent leave was divine, and Ft. Lewis was acceptable.
I spent time in that very bed for about three weeks of the past year. I was doing that a month ago.
But this morning was different. For the foreseeable future I can laze about, sleep in, not worry about the flight back to Lewis, the guys who are still in Iraq (my guys got to go home two-weeks ago, and a happier day than that I can't recall in the past 18 months) no questions about what nonsense the Holding Company is up to, nor what little things I have to fix for my squad.
No, I am home. I can plant the tomatoes I had to forgo last year. I can breathe the licorice tainted air beneath the wisteria, thin the peaches, apricots and nectarines.
Go for a walk and not have to think about anything but the path, the plants, the wind and the day before me.
Home.
Like Dorothy, whole again, and resting where the heart is.
"Fuck, "I'm still here."
This morning, somewhere in the middle hours (say 0800) I woke for a moment, and thought, "I'm home," and went back to sleep.
Say that word with me... Home.
I left the theater last July, sick as sick could be. Germany was sublime, DC was incredible, convalescent leave was divine, and Ft. Lewis was acceptable.
I spent time in that very bed for about three weeks of the past year. I was doing that a month ago.
But this morning was different. For the foreseeable future I can laze about, sleep in, not worry about the flight back to Lewis, the guys who are still in Iraq (my guys got to go home two-weeks ago, and a happier day than that I can't recall in the past 18 months) no questions about what nonsense the Holding Company is up to, nor what little things I have to fix for my squad.
No, I am home. I can plant the tomatoes I had to forgo last year. I can breathe the licorice tainted air beneath the wisteria, thin the peaches, apricots and nectarines.
Go for a walk and not have to think about anything but the path, the plants, the wind and the day before me.
Home.
Like Dorothy, whole again, and resting where the heart is.
I'm not anonymous, I'm Kate Schaefer
Date: 2004-03-13 10:54 pm (UTC)