One quarter of another year nearly gone.
Memory plays tricks. Brings into sharp relief nightfalls from forty years ago.
A grassy field in front of a big granite house. Children standing in a circle around a flagpole. The end of a hot august day. The words of the song ringing out across the empty fields in the dusk, as the red and white flag is run down the flagpole and carefully folded. Soft grey uniform Marching in line back to the wooden barracks, as the last rays of daylight disappear.
Remembering summers of my spring days as I approach the spring of my summer days.