I look back over three decades and see Vietnamese children break down into tears then in fading fall light, a chill wind, the heartache of verterans facing the Wall. Many are joyful with great expectation. The overcast clouds were of light and dark gray color. We talk and write, we live and die. Many are anxious to celebrate but I hope they don't forget what lay in the past.
Time is healing, healing is time.
I want them to remember a child with a starving face and a beseeching eyes, a man between Winter and Spring. Beneath his old-wornout shirt still lies a mental scars that would make him die, past memories to the new millenniun of coming Spring. The trees are almost naked and the foliage continues to fall. They lay along the grass on the sidewalk and in the gutter. Several are drifting with the wind.