Now, storm clouds roil with a rumour of rain, and the fields are afire; again. Flames unfurl and whip like cavalry swallowtail guidons in the furious wind across the ridge.
Now is the time that you are needed; now is the time to heal the hurt, and only you can do that.
Practice grace and mercy. Hand out love, asking nothing in return. Yes, you are scarred, wounded once again, yet you can still place your burnt hands together, showing your simple gesture of grace to find the divine in each and all. Your heart is war weary, this is painful, yet you alone are our last hope. You alone; there is no other.