They buried an American soldier who died in Iraq in the cemetery where I run today.   Quite coincidentally, the entire ceremony, including a 21-gun salute, transpired during the course of my 5 lap, 7 mile run. 

After being born on this earth, isn’t it strange what becomes of each and every one of us?  I mean, when I joined the military, it was with the most fervent intent to fight in a war of liberation.  And quite possibly die.  I was almost certain of the assignment—and that was my rational for joining.  But then the Iran-Contra affair and Col. Ollie North blew a hole in the looming conflict. And the battle that I joined to enjoin was averted.  And the non-aftermath flattened my conscription out into a few tours of peaceful duty. 

In a slightly altered universe, the Iran-Contra deal falls through, Col. Olllie North’s jeep  goes off an embankment in what’s questionably considered an accident, and I take the place of the soldier laid to rest today some flurry of springs earlier.

Then who’d be running the 7 mile stint today?  And leaning against an obelisk thereafter having a beer, writing a strange tribute, and wirelessly casting it into the blogosphere? 

Perhaps, the soldier buried today.

So, by proxy, this beer and this blog’s for him, if not by him.  And , by proxy, I yet live to fight another day. 

And he?  Well, he’s given it all.  So tell me, sky pilot, how high can you fly?