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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Almost Sunday

Chapter sixteen is in the bag. It came in at 1385 words. There was plenty of time staring at the screen forcing the words out.

It's not good. I should probably run through it again before moving on, but I don't know if that will happen.

And right now, as you can tell, I'm drained of words. It's time for bed. Tomorrow is lunch with the niece who graduated HS this year. She's going to college way far away, so we won't see her too often after that.

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