Smoke rolls across the street at every corner. Balls of light in the gutters. Burning prayers for relatives, there are hundreds around now for the war. You can smell the smoke hundreds of miles away as you stare at a hole a bomb left by a thousand year old temple.
The grass grows back.
The sun feels like the flames from the burning prayers as you plant a tree at a former U.S. army base. Names buried with the trees, so that their memories will blow in the wind.
As you stare at the trees prancing around you it is hard to see a war. There are remnants of stone, but that is the same at any site. You stare at the lake and watch a water buffalo do things water buffalos do.
How do you see a war?
How do you comprehend the stories, the fake and real.
How do you not feel guilty?
You smell the smoke, watch the flames, enjoy the wind, smile and live.