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Summertime in the BelgradesContentsfor Printing
Article Summaries |
The signs went up, one by one. The words were added, two or three brief ones. Sometimes a name — always a different name; sometimes a number — always the same number: 133! The signs were welcoming the men and women of the 133rd Engineer Battalion home from Iraq.
Every spring, with a whoosh or a whisper, the winter's ice breaks up, disappears, goes "out," and once again the lakes are open water — but not before this rite of passage has attracted more speculation and more anticipation than other changes of season.
A pale April sun does little to warm my back as I tug at tangled branches, all that's left of the ancient oak tree felled in the wrath of January Redisplay This Page in Printer-Friendly Format Home • All 2005 Issues • Next --> | ||||||
