Butterfly

On the darkest days when the sand storm comes in and the base seems to have reached apocalyptic proportions. It is as if the sand could wash away all life and leave only a terrible fog. During one of these days I went to the chow hall, with the soil of the earth clinging to the corners of my rib cage. I cannot clean it out. I saw a soldier I know eating ice cream and his friend stood stoically by, his blue eyes glaring at the dimmed sun. I stopped to speak with them. I asked him if there was dirt in his dessert? He laughed; his friend was not listening. Then out of the sky a butterfly flitted by and landed on the quiet soldier’s camo hat. I pointed and smiled for the first time that day. How could such a delicate creature thrive in such an environment? No one else seemed blown away by the irony. So I laughed by myself and went inside to eat salad and rice on a plastic plate with plastic utensils.