The sun is setting, the plane is coming. The bags have been loaded, stuffed with clothing. The rifles are clean but empty. The hearts are guarded but full. The are a few families here, but most are gone. There are a few emails, but most have been sent. Napping, dreaming, waking in cold sweats. Anticipation, waiting, last minute rush. Sitting in the barbers chair I feel the comfort or a ritual, a ritual of my own making used to mark a life changing even. Tonight might be my last on American soil.
Warrior caste. Rituals of preparation…waiting.waiting.waiting.