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Written by Heather R
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Monday, 25 August 2008 |
I often have dreams where I am standing shoulder-to-shoulder with men in my platoon on the wet hull of our Higgins boat. It's warm, almost dawn, and we're all quiet. No sounds emitted from the dozens of men on the boat, which one would think would have been peaceful, tranquil. And it would have been - boating on the English Channel in silence with men whom I respect - save for the consistent, rhythmic pelting of German guns, the reverberating hum from the receding ships behind us, and the hundreds of airplanes ejecting thousands of soldiers above our heads. In my dream I'm fearless, solid, ready to fight. It ends there. Not to say I wake up, but the dream never continues, never climaxes. We head toward an unreachable shore. Guns, paratroopers, ships, waves, dawn. And when I do wake, I feel no sense of fear, of pride or excitement, just a heavy fog of confusion as I shift positions. I have no ties to D-Day or the Canadian Army, and it's presently seven decades post-WWII. More often than I have dreams of war, I absent-mindedly wonder where these images are coming from. I have yet to figure it out.
Copyright 2008 Heather R
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