Memory
When I was twelve years old I climbed into a tent beside a fire and listened while two men swapped stories from Korea. The first was eloquent about the Turks. At night they sang around their fires then suddenly went silent. Sunrise, the Chinese pickets other side were dead. Men thought this happened once the singing stopped, but no, the campfires and the songs disguised approach up to each picket’s back. “The Turks,” the first man…… More »




























