I walked along a ridge line with steady wind coming up from the valley. The farmland below was drenched in sun while I battled the breeze. From the fields they watched a lone figure struggle against unseen forces.
Did my heroic efforts generate gratitude in the multitudes I saved?
Did my hunching gait provoke pity as they wondered why I resisted so dramatically?
Up here, a couple strolls by, holding hands as they break from their chores, sun on the backs of their necks.
The war is long over, why battle I? Let me turn my face toward warm sunshine.