Blade of Truth

I was meeting with a fellow history buff recently and our conversation turned on an object we both felt pointedly.

“I got a new blade. A bayonet piece. Here,” he said, handing it to me.

I’m a southpaw, as you see from the photo.

I’m old enough to have been in combat arms in the Army when we were still trained, “Fix bayonets!” and we soldiers did so, and marched/charged/ran forward and stabbed our enemies (usually a lacerated silhouette with stab wounds through his ribcage of duct tape) as part of training. (Those types of training are largely gone for now. Now soldiers train on pronouns and climate change. And racism. Can’t leave that out.)

As I flew south, I fell asleep. A bit later I woke up from my nap with a stiff neck. I looked out the window. The green beauty arrested me. The way it contrasted with the sky above.

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