It was a beautiful morning; the sky tinted with reds and golds and pinks and oranges, as the sun rose high above the land of the free. The silhouette of a man was visible in the morning, a flag clutched in his hand. A slight breeze rippled through the flag, sending it dancing in the morning light; the man's blonde hair and brown bomber jacket stirring in the same breeze that rippled through the red, white, and blue flag that he clutched in his hands.
A cocky smile twitched at his lips as he surveyed everything that was his. He had lived a long time and had many adventures in his life; life that would not be easily wrenched from his body. A laugh bubbled up from within him. He let the clear sound escape his slightly chapped lips. The sound floated along with the breeze giving the solemn occasion he had been waiting on a cheery air.
The man closed his eyes and immediately he gained flashes of the people who lived in his lands. He did not flash on every woman and child and man. His mind flashed upon those who had served him, who had protected the very land he stood on.
The Revolutionary War, World War One, World War Two, the Cold War, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq. They were the major conflicts that his mind flashed upon. The men and women that had served him; the men and women who had given their lives to him; the men and women who still lived and continued to give their lives for him. A fluttering started in his chest. He knew that he would soon start to cry. It was the same old thing every year. He gave a laugh at the nostalgia that slipped through him as he remembered all of those people who had fought in his name. A tear found its way from under his closed eyelid and trailed its way down his cheek and to his chin where it trembled. The tear dropped from his chin and landed in the dirt by his booted feet. He opened his eyes and looked into the risen sun. He smiled at the sun. It was not his usual heroic smile that could blind a blind man with its brilliance. This was a soft smile filled with nostalgia and hope and sorrow. Pride swelled in his breast. In response, the wind increased and ripped through the flag, making it dance wildly in the morning air pulling it taunt before snapping it back in ripples.
Alfred F. Jones—America—held the flag in his hand and let it stretch taunt and ripple back. He watched it dance in the wind with his unseeing sky blue eyes. His mind flashed to every single living veteran in his land and all over the world: the new and the old. His smile faded for a moment as he wished each of them luck and thanked them for their service. He would stand atop the outcropping of red stone until the sun went down and the day passed to the next. He did this every year. Every year he would stand atop a different peak and thank those who defended him. Every year the tears would fall and his body would chill in the wind as he gave tribute to those who kept his lands free.
"Thank you…" he let the words fall from his lips to be carried onto the wind to every part of the world, wherever his citizens may be found.
This is a little late, but Happy Veterans' Day!