As I sit here, taking in the cool of evening, a soothing calm threatens to take possession of body and soul. The sound of the mourning dove settling in for a restful night is the harbinger of peace to all men. Though I am weary of the days behind and afraid of the days ahead, I cannot but help be brought into a feeling of fitful solace. The moon passes slowly over all, making shadows of trees the silhouettes of daytime thoughts lost on the way to their rightful place of repose.
Peace be to me and all other men. I haven't a scruple with any soul as the requisite tranquility of the dark hours lays its spell upon me. On the eve, the very threshold of rest when the eyes dare not but tremble at sleep's approach, when my very spirit is not but a thought lost on the whipping waves of a boundless sea, the stillness is roused without warning by the sound of thunder.
In the distance, exuberant shouts of men turn from the joyous cheers of ones zealous for victory on the field to the terrified clamors of souls startled with sudden annihilation. Detonations as of canon fire trample upon the sounds of the dying, sacrilegious monstrosities of hellish melodies haunting me with each passing breath.
The sounds grow closer and closer, each outburst polluting the air with the anguished tribulations of the damned. Deafening unto madness, in my mind's eye the very charging ammunitions take shape, more real to me in those moments than any pain ever suffered under the Sun. My heart galloping faster than my feet can carry me, I arouse from my near slumber to run as fast and far as I may to escape the coming doom. Without warning, I am struck. The cutting blade of my foe lacerates my right leg, sending feverish and sudden pain through me to my very spiritual being. In my great distress I fall, down to the very terra firma which had only recently supported my fearful departure.
I am awakened. I yawn deeply and stretch my arms. Looking down at my leg, I discover to my unadulterated delight that my leg is not bleeding. I am still resting on the porch of the house. The moon is high and full, its luminescence lighting my profile as a specter in the night. Sheepish, I grimace internally when I find that my attacker was merely a wisecracking mosquito attempting to dismantle my evening entertainments. The thunderous detonations, so assuredly the sounds of civil war only moments before, I forthwith find were only the sounds of fireworks at Disneyland. Disneyland!
With great mirth, I accept graciously the trade of war for tomfoolery of the mind and go inside to a goblet of hot tea.
