An Autumn Stroll Through The Teutoburg Forest
A mist rose from the forest floor and lingered, thickening into a cloud among the treetops. The leaves still retained some green but were relenting to mother nature’s paintbrush. Her palette a colorful hue of bright red and yellow death. It all seemed bleak due to the cloudy mist and the gray sky. We followed a wagon path into the unwelcoming embrace of the trees. The forest becomes darker. I hear a word whispered in the breeze as it blows gently through the trees and the sun peeks briefly through a break in the clouds. The voice is disembodied, ethereal, like a thousand whispered warnings. It is a feminine voice and familiar in a way the face of a long lost friend or kinsman is upon an unexpected reunion. The word or words it speaks are a warning. I want to run back to the safety of our legion’s camp by the river, but my devotion to my comrades steels my will to continue the march. A march I believe will be the last for many of us. The second day of march. The pa...