Flags on the Bayou

by James Lee Burke

Let people tell you war is grand, and do not reprove them. Let them tell you the jingle of the sword and spurs and the whooshing sounds of a mounted knight’s armor are the music of a medieval balladeer, and do not reprove them. But never let them tell you there is rhyme or reason to war, lest you join the lunatics who have perpetuated its suffering from the cave to the present.

Holy people have an aura about them, often a flicker when all light seems to have been sucked from the world. Who cares where they get it? They’re the light-bearers. They go down with the ship, the decks awash, guns blazing. How can you not love them? Or not accept their love?