Pennsylvania

A roaring tour bus is what I road through Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. As I passed the fields of fallen solders I could almost envision the actions in which they had partaken. Silently off the bus we went. I walked quietly along the path, over the rocks of Little Round Top, letting the breeze caress me roughly. The weather up there is the quintessence of crisp and refreshing. No sooner had we gotten off the bus did we get back on...I did not want to leave. No, I would have stayed all day.
Soon, I was walking towards the Pennsylvania Memorial. Others were walking either slower or faster than I, but none beside me. Some passed and sang childish song, making up lyrics to already composed tunes. A chill wind rushed over me as our teacher speaks passionately of what happened 'on the very ground which you stand.' The bus roars behind us, startling some.
"...a bloody awful way to fight," is the first thing I hear as I look up. He chooses his words so carefully, his delivery is precise. If only my generation could learn that from him, we'd be ten times better off. Even when he stumbles over his words, it is done gracefully, almost like it is done on purpose, perhaps trying to disprove our suggestion that he is perfect. Yes, that would be very much like him. And up we go...eleven, seven, six; eleven steps up; landing; seven more steps up; landing; six steps down; landing. And repeat. I can't help but wonder if there is significance in those numbers...
Looking up I see wondrous statues of men whose names are very well-known to a very small few. The wind rustles my hair, getting in the way of my view. I walk away. Others follow, and we walk up a slight hill to see the rest of the statues and memorials. The Irishmen. I see their emblem on almost everything. It's comforting to me, knowing that my heritage is of Irish and Scottish descent; men who fight, women who labor, children who play. It is rather comforting...

Pennsylvania. Cool, crisp, tantalizing country. I will come back to you again.