A Clear Blue Sky

It was close to the end of May when I walked into the small village near the border. There was a nice weather, and a clear blue sky.

The small, low houses cast small, low shadows under the morning sun, and a faint breeze blew from the west. It was a fine spring day, with a nice weather, and a clear blue sky.

However, there was no-one walking openly on the sunlight streets, on that fine spring day. Only silhouettes shuffling near the walls, trying to ignore the breeze; figures running from one awning to the next, shunning the nice weather; children crawling into a well, hiding from a clear blue sky.

I asked. And the answer came:

“They can see you, in fine spring days”.

“Bombs don’t mind a faint western breeze”.

“Drones fly well, when there’s nice weather”.

“They can kill you, under the clear blue sky”.