It’s peaceful here; Nary a human voice hits my eardrums; Only the fabulous songbirds and the occasional chirping of a chipmunk; It’s okay, though; We can coexist up here
Gentle slopes and charming wood lots; Rolling hills and sun drenched meadows; A calm, quiescent brook babbles in the not too distant; I sit here often and soak it all in
It wasn’t always this way; Our descendants experienced here quite differently; Cracks of musket fire and roaring of cannons once drowned out the songbirds of the day; Large trees reduced to rubble; Craters filled the hillsides; Limbs blown off, lifelessness strewn across the meadow; The desperate shrieking of young boys dying in the background forever to haunt those who were just out of harm’s way; When the dust settled, those who were left had to grieve for their fallen comrades all the while carrying them piece by piece off the battlefield
I sit here often and soak it all in; How many took their last breath underneath the rock upon which I sit? How many souls are forever stuck here in their personal hell, a place I come to for peace and tranquillity? How ironic…..
Whipped Owl 
Very well written, and most emotional. May I ask, what field of honor were you using for your inspiration?
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Thank you for your reply! I didn’t really have a specific field in mind, and I don’t think one exists where I would have it all to myself! That said, I have always been drawn to the battles that occurred in wooded areas, so maybe Pitzer Woods at Gettysburg or the Battle of the Wilderness came to mind. Thanks again for the question!
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