Might sound like odd bedfellows but every September as I lay in my goose blind,
I think of that A hole and what he has cost. I don't talk about it very often, but I can't help but be forced to think about it. you see. My favorite goose field has a very small cemetery on it's South West corner, not a big affair by most standards, but then again I live in a very small community.
Interred their for all time lies a very nice lady named Barb Edwards, her dad Jack still lives here, and is a nice but now quiet old guy. Barb was murdered on 911 as her plane was flown into the Pentagon. I look to the small flag that sets in it's standard on her stone, it guides my set and always reminds me that my freedom to do what I enjoy has comes at a price much greater than a stamp or a box of shells.
Rest now in peace nice Lady , sleep sound and dream soft dreams quiet old man.
Regards
B