marching troops

Sitting outside on my front step in the late afternoon, I begin to hear the rhythmic shouts of soldiers as they march, training soldiers at the Defense Language School a half a mile away. Several times a day I hear the amplified buggle call, at 7am, 5pm and 10pm, controlling the day for the troops and for the town. However the millions of oak moths that are frantically circling the trees are unimpressed with the shouts. The baby herons are grown and fly out to find their own fish to eat, coming back in the evening to sit on the limbs of the tall pine trees.

I am loving FOUR SEASONS IN ROME by Anthony Doerr. A memoir of a year spent in Rome by a young author, his wife and his infant twin boys. Doerr describes his life with such humor and depth that I am sorry that I will soon finish it.