This is taken from my journal.
Date: February 9th 2007.
Time: 10:15 am
Location: Al Asad, Iraq
Sun is shining and I am sitting outside the [office] on the bench under the tan tarp, but the sun is still shining thru, on my hand, my pen, my book. The air is cool. I hear the birds chirping and fluttering as they play all day. Cars are passing by on my left, just over the Hesco barriers that are probably 8 feet high.
The Marines are doing exercises, so I hear them from time to time when the wind brings over their haji war cries. It is remniscent of Lucy Lawless in Xena. Just as I hear them, a military helicopter flies overhead. He comes out behind me, goes about a mile out to my left past the hescos, makes a crescent and travels about two miles and ends up in front of me. By this time, ithe sound of his rotors is barely above a whisper.
Now I hear the 220 voltage generator humming in it's neverending faithful song. That's one noise I'm always glad to hear. [note: because if its not on then theres no power for lights or to power my computer so i can work]
The sun is on my legs. It is a little warm, yet the soft and gentle breeze on my back feels like a thawed out frost, ready to shake alive the seeds on the trees. The soft blow of the sky, encouraging the ants from their winter slumber, ready to start foraging in the spring again.
I know those ants are ready and eager to come out and play/work, I saw [a couple of] them, first snacking on a starburst (pina colada flavored) then hours later when one ant must have told all his friends and family, about 20 of them devouring it hungrily. It soon rained afterwards, so I hope they got what they needed.
It smells like air. Clean air and cigarette butts. But of course two feet in front and to the right of me is a drum wheel on its side and an ammunition can on top of it half filled with the remaining carcasses of life vapors. The ammo can was once black with the words CHAOS neatly stenciled on all sides in white, but because a net never was good at holding off the rain, and the wind carries dust, it's a grayish color with raindrop ghosts outlined in dirt.
The [office building] next to mine, well, right now in front of me, has been occupied within the last 3 minutes. I hear country music. Breaking hearts and living the Iraqi deployed life, he's probably singing about.
I look on the [makeshift deck] floorboard in front of me and to the left and I see, glistening in the sun, some spit, a loogie. A healthy one. There's clear mucus, and white spots in it. I wish I could will the owner of it to spit 3 feet to the left next time so that it would land in the dirt. But that is no easy feat especially when this is not your property, nor are you required to clean it. That's why there are ashes on the bench and cigarette (Marlboro) butts at my feet. It's just Iraq! Right?
I want to go inside and blog this but 1. berg is probably on the 'puter and 2. I'm addicted to the sun trees outside birds air wind dirt rocks sand benches solitude nature quietness oneness peace. I'm getting cold, tho. So Imma go inside now.