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FLY SOUTH FOR THE WINTER

The inky blackness of the night’s sky was slowly giving
way to the deep blue of the dawn. The stars.Spluttering like candles. Giving one last flicker,
then once again lost in the depths of space. Behind him the moon. Like some silver white disc,
suspended on invisible wires, giving shape and shadow, but no definitive colour.
The water.
Still .
Unmoving.
The surface akin to a gigantic mirror, reflecting images, so out of place, so foreign.
That had it not been for the cold crisp air that bit deep with each breath. If he blinked now.  
It would surely vanish before him.
Numbed, not only with cold, but with what was about to take place. He stood like the others, bent
slightly forward. Head bowed,like some pagan ceremony, designed to
appease the gods. It was not the burden of responsibility that caused this seemingly mass
display of humbleness. It was the massive weight of their Bergen’s,their weapons and ammo.

For this was the 21 of May 1982, 0200 hrs Zulu.
Their destination;        
    

  “Blue Beach Two” .

             Bend and Kiss me now,
             For it may be the last before our death.
             And when that’s over, we’ll be different;
             In Perishable things, a cloud or a fire.
             And I know nothing but this body, nothing
             But that old vehement, bewildering kiss.

                                                   Keats.
                                                                                                                                                                      GiAjl