3023. ARMED TO THE HILT

ARMED TO THE HILT

Someone was telling me something vague:
'Air power could have won the Civil War',
or words to that end. The effect was of
wind on reeds, or a fire over marshland.
Steady, but unsure nonetheless. I sat down,
to feature the listen. He was now talking to
his companion, a wonderful girl whose lips
seemed to glisten. I thought of my own
Shakespearean bliss at witnessing drama,
at witnessing this. Sensation like the
unfolding of a deep-written script.
-
She said: 'But then, why would they want
to win if that's all they'd needed to do? And,
anyway, they hadn't those airplanes yet
back then. You're just being foolish again.'
-
I laughed uproariously to myself, behind
my gilded pillar. The sign nearby said that
these hedges had been planted first in 1881.
They had prospered well. It was late Winter
now, early Spring, whatever, and they really
were raring to grow - all buds at the ready.
-
Such strength pushes even the most
beleaguered among us into new life. Ideas,
moments, actions, regrets. All the same
when the hammer comes down. Air power
could have won the Civil War? Oh
but with what a fearsome sound.