That Day

Snap! Snap! Ah, I remember that day well! The wind was perfect! There is absolutely nothing quite like a brisk wind in my folds before that delicious "Snap!"
As a flag, my two main diversions include snapping and observing--I no longer consider pole-sitting a "diversion." That's just life now. Also, the weather conditions are not always conducive to snapping; therefore it was quite an excitement to have an entire crowd to observe and a perfect snapping wind come up!
I see many men in uniform here on the Fort Campbell base. So many, in fact, that civilians are a refreshing sight! Rather, I should say a refreshing "sound," for I heard them first. Sounds that soldiers never make swelled and waned within the plane hanger. Children's screams, raucous giggles, robust greetings, and announcements from the loud speaker occasionally surged above the hub.
Oh the smells! One solitary human could never experience scents the way a flag does. Contrary to common belief, flags are very sensitive to smells, for we smell like what we are around! (The same could be said for humans and their company!) When one has enough time--and concern--to condense every scent floating around into one potent aroma, he becomes very sensitive to all smells! These scents did not waft. Not at all! The scent of every perfume, cologne, diaper, and bag of popcorn muscled and jostled out of the hanger, engulfing me in that scent. I still smell like that day.

Nothing unusual seemed to be occurring out of doors, yet suddenly civilians began to spurt from a portal in the hanger wall! They did not trickle; they rushed! This was an urgent crowd! Something was happening! Brilliant colors blurred as the crowd frantically shoved themselves to the hard iron gates, flinging their arms high. Were they prisoners?
What was that? A distant roar--Ah, yes, I knew that sound well! The great metal bird was returning! I had never known this bird to be dangerous, yet the closer he flew, the more violent their eruptions of shrieks and waving became!

After the bird decided to let out his passengers out onto the white field, my attention quickly shifted to my favorite beings in the world. My soldiers. As a flag, I'm fortunate to be stationed on a military base. I am respected as all American flags should be. Men leave their homes and families so I can fly high and free. Therefore, I pay thorough attention to each one of these soldiers as he files by.
These were not the starched and restless men that marched into the great metal bird so long ago. They were darkened by sun and experience. Their bodies were hard, but tired. Yet some things had not changed. The pride that lifted their boots a little higher, their shoulders a little straighter, their grins a little wider was still there. Each yard closer to that metal gate scintillated a spark in their weary eyes. The civilians strained to reach the coming parade, each calling a different name; but the soldiers just kept marching. Marching.

This is a partly-true account of the homecoming of a soldier.