The sun seemed impossibly

bright, our skin darkened

with the slightest touch of its fingers.

A light wind swept sweetly over us,

playing with the stray hairs that broke

loose from our tightly bound ponytails.

We glided across the long withered

battlefield, the wheels of our bikes

rolling over hills that once caught the

point of a musket — the rough

thud of a body falling limply

into eternal slumber.  We laughed,

we shouted stories, jokes.

We raced, weaving through the damp earth.

We never saw the clouds

lumbering towards us.  The rain poured,

pricking our arms as we sped up

the path toward the log cabins dotting the

treeline.  On a different day—

snow muted the earth, boots crunched as

men muttered- marching toward the

same cabins, freshly built.