As a boy in 1970's Alabama I knew what freedom was and I fought some day's tirelessly to preserve it. Joe and I with an ever watchful eye on the perimeter would on occasion have to expose the threat that lay only inches from the surface, a swift kick and a hasty retreat to the bunker was usually enough to awaken the sleeping cells. As we readied ourselves atop the hill our enemies would inevitably show, small in stature but great in numbers and strength, hoards of carpenter ants would break the ridge, pinchers raised and antennas scanning their horizon. Armed only with a youthful eye and reflexes I wielded my older brothers single pump crosman BB gun with drone like precision in the eradication of my enemy, at least that's what I imagined Joe told me after the battle ended.
Now my Father free to build his cabin and my mother free to prepare her blackberry cobbler, safe from tyranny and oppression that only five minutes ago threatened their very souls, and to which they were totally oblivious to.
So THANK YOU ! to the warrior atop the hill who protects me,
oblivious or not I am in your debt.
