Until the rumbling began:
It is an instantly recognizable sound, slow and laborious, wavering in and out like thunder…
Always conjuring memories of death and destruction–that time, those many times they dropped red dots in the wake of their contrails…
Shaking the ground beneath your feet seconds later, sending columns of black smoke into the skies and your heart lunging toward your throat.
They twist around a few times and then come headed toward you, right over your head:
Moments later they disappear. You never know why they were here. All you know is that they will probably back to interrupt your life again… tonight, tomorrow, next week.
Who knows what mission they will be on then, and what tools of diplomacy they will be bearing beneath their wings.
