Come, a passionate speech.

The chaplain seemed to be shouting. He stood inches away from us but he shouted, with some fervor, about the Everlasting and redemption and being united in Him or something to that effect. I found it hard to pay attention to his speech. Everything around him was so much more eloquent.

The greenness of the grass.
The white stones lined up like soldiers up and down the hills.
The band standing at attention.
The horses’ hooves clicking along the road to the sound of drums.
Hands moving in perfect synchronicity.
Guns firing puffs of smoke into the air.
A flag pulled like rigging.
A pair of boots turned the wrong way round the horse.
A box much like the ones my grandfather’s cigars used to rest in – full of ashes.
A lone man with a bugle.
Dozens of legs walking in unison away from the scene.

Even, he himself, after the speech was over and he knelt down to deliver the triangle of the flag, was more eloquent.

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