Cheers to the Colonial Soldiers
The sun was dipping low in the sky…Its light turning to amber. I took a beer from the refrigerator and walked to the sliding door in the back of the house.
I flicked off the lights and walked outside. Easing into the outdoor furniture I picked up last week, I popped open my beer and took that first, cold, wonderful sip.
The trees were swaying gently with the breeze. It was peaceful that night.
Suddenly, a loud boom thundered not far off. Then another. Then another. Cannonballs.
Then, the ghosts of men emerged from the trees…fighting. Ancient rifles. Bayonetes. Long coats…some red…others blue.
I watched quietly as they fought. As they died.
I raised my beer to eye level, obscuring my view of the beautiful horror.
It was this ground that they bled on. It was this ground that they died on. It was this ground they gave everything for.
“Why aren’t there more Americans like you today?”
The ghosts were gone. The trees swayed. The fireworks started in the sky.