A Record in Green and White

Posted on May 28, 2005 in The Orange

The day begins with fog. Greens are vivid. I stop to gaze down the blaze of the fabricated forest near the waterfall. On this windless day, the lawn holds still. Each tree stands like someone at a party where you have just walked in the door and stopped conversation. I nod to them as I go to my truck, turn and look back to find them still staring.

Down many roads, I pass a cemetery. American flags wave in the breeze. Our boys. Our boys. Our boys, I think nearly for each one. Which boy is that? How did he serve? Amid the windmills and mylar balloons, old men and women creep among the graves, reaching to the earth when they come to The Marker, and touching it with the tips of their fingers. The fog burns off. Clouds form from the melt-off.

Several hours later, after I come home and take a nap, I look up at the sky. The clouds have come back to earth. The sky once more is white. And when I go out in a few minutes, I do not doubt that the lawn will seem a brilliant green and that the liquid ambers and the sycamores will gape at my passing.