Another Flying Memory

Flying low above the ground. The ground is grey, muddy, and desolate. It is bright morning about 10 to 11 am. Below the trees are sparse and dead like skeletons. The ground is barren from the devastation. The constant bombing. It makes me want to cry. I see bodies below of the dead that are mud covered and all is empty of life. This must be the middle ground between the two sides. I pull up and head towards our side where just a little more life is. Behind the front lines is signs of plant life again and the grey mess is gone. I fly up higher and higher. The sky is clear and bright blue. It is heaven to be up here in the sky. I would not want to trade it for anything. I feel guilty and lucky all at the same time.