During the Vietnam War

... only the new growth grass was wet behind her head and back. She could feel it and she could smell the grass rising up around her, saw the whole sky and saw the sky in its de facto language even though she was only seven. The year held out a bird skull in its opened hand, whole. Other birds were singing in a French film with no subtitles. It was black and white. But the sky was definitely blue, an invention of blue. A vector and hinge and rung of only blue already there, no matter where you looked. It took a long time. She looked a long time and in lockstep pressed the tips of her fingers into the mole-black dirt between grass blades. Only, this is the wrong story: she did not doom or injure any animals but she was restless then, and she was glad she was not safe.