did fifty years before, even though their hair may be longer and they wear sunglasses that dazzle with reflected light. Yet somewhere in the mountains the remaining members of the commander's army may yet be hiding, their skin leathery with age, their hair white and as unruly as wire but their uniforms immaculate, still huddling around a fire at night, nibbling with deadened teeth at the remains of the wolf they killed the night before, still solemn and purposeful as they debate the next day's events, or the time when help will arrive, or the plan that will allow them to claim final victory. As the fire dies, they sing a song of the homeland, just a murmur, for it is not good to attract attention, and as they share lyrics and remind each other of the forgotten words, their wizened faces continue to burn with camaraderie.
My sister is in a good place today, so I drive her and my son out to the headlands, to a place
 | | of plentiful lakes and forest, just a little getaway. My son urges us both, Come on, come on. It will be our last time out together -- I know this without knowing the particulars of the future, it is just that my mind is clear on this, it is pure certainty. Come on, come on, he still says. Doesn't he know that I only see the dead leaves that are pasted to the ground with mildew, or the bruises on my sister's bare legs? My sister and I are arguing about something, even in this deathly beautiful place, we are quarreling. She smiles, as she always does to end our debates, it is as if she is saying, You have nothing to compete with this. I see those teeth stained brown, and I want to yell at her, Can't you see? And yet, her hair is cut short and pert, she wears a dress colorful as a daisy, and the smell of honeysuckle bathes her. I can lie, I can imagine that the odor emanates from deep within her, just this once. And still my son yells and encourages, and the trail leads deeper into the forest. He jogs
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