A Point of Debate

I've been thinking about war all week. Hard not to, given the drumbeat of news. But also, because I've remembered war every October since 1970. When the color of afternoon light is just so, and the leaves are gold above and gold below, and crunch to release that particular odor of tea, I remember. In Potsdam, we stood in the fallen leaves and read the names of the war dead from dawn until dusk, then on through the night. There seemed to be no end to them.