The show of color catches my eye as the branches crisscross, making a canopy over my head. Inspiring patterns are made by the sunlight streaming through. Autumn is here and soon, the recurring season will blow into the wind.

So beautiful, yet sad.

I can hear the sound coming before I even see it. There is no rush, and there is no slowing down, only the rhythmic sound of six horses, and their hooves - as they pull the caisson. They make their way past me, to the final resting place of the soldier. My heart stops beating and I try to slowly breathe.

The Third Infantry Regiment United States Army, more commonly known as the Old Guard, is always responsible for caisson. Caisson is a horse-drawn wagon or cart. The two caissons used at the Cemetery are from the WWI time period circa 1918-1919. Originally the caisson was used to bring artillery onto the battlefield. Once the artillery was off-loaded, the caisson was loaded with bodies of fallen service members. The wagon is pulled by six horses, but there are only three riders. The Old Guard service members only ride the horses on the left side because the horses on the right side were originally used to take supplies onto the battlefield.source

The Old Guard Soldiers of Arlington National Cemetery. They practice tirelessly, each movement is precise and always in step.

Thou wilt whisper of peace to my soul, for there is longevity in the memory of tragedy. Take a moment of silence and then, let the sunshine in. A delicate reminder of the peace that lives in my heart. This was two several Christmases ago, but, I can still feel the chill in my heart. If you can read that headstone and not come away with tears, you cannot be human. I can almost not bear the thought of this thirty-one-year-old man giving his life, so that others may live. Fifteen days from his thirty-second trip around the sun. I stop and him every time I go. I touch his stone and hope he feels the love.
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Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you: not as the world gives, give I to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. John 14:27

The golden moments of life, shadowing me from reality. It whispers of change in the tide, but, it doesn’t change the fact that I cannot breathe without you.

That is exactly what I feel like, every time I am here, then make my way home once again, leaving my loved ones behind.

All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.

It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.