FLY SOUTH FOR THE WINTER

The inky blackness of the night's sky
was slowly giving way
to the deep blue of the dawn.

The stars

spluttering like candles; giving one last flicker,
then once again lost in the depths of space.

Behind him the moon

like some silver white disc, suspended on invisible wires,
giving shape and shadow, but no definitive colour.

The water;
still
unmoving.

Its surface akin to a gigantic mirror,
reflecting images so out of place, so foreign

that had it not been for the cold crisp air
that bit deep with each breath,
(and if he blinked now)
it would surely vanish before him.

Numbed,

not only with cold,
but with what was about to take place.

He stood like the others,
bent slightly forward.

Head bowed,
like in some pagan ceremony,
designed to
appease the gods.

It was not the burden of responsibility
that caused this seemingly mass display of
humbleness.

It was the massive weight
of their Bergen's, their weapons and ammo.

For this was the 21st of May 1982, 0200 hrs Zulu.

Their destination;
"Blue Beach Two"

©Copyright November 23, 2001 by James McE. Love

Author’s Note: There are sights, sounds, and places that you'll never forget. For me, this is one such like.

Bend and Kiss me now,
For it may be the last before our death.
And when that's over, we'll be different;
In perishable things, a cloud or a fire.
And I know nothing but this body, nothing
But that old vehement, bewildering kiss.

Keats