Of All The Hardships A Person Had

I Guess Some Stories Do Not Need Telling.

Hills That Stand Soft And A Sky That Stands High And Blue, And The Sun Setting Behind A Windmill, And Always, Always, Hazy Strings Of Mountains That Fall And Fall Away On The Horizon.

Like A Compass Needle That Points North, A Man's Accusing Finger Always Finds A Woman. Always.

Afghanistan Has Always Been Sort Of A Fractured Nation, Very Tribal, Where The Countryside And The Distant Provinces Have Been Run By Custom, By Tribal Law And By Tribal Leaders Rather Than Edicts From The Central Government In Kabul.

Beauty Is An Enormous, Unmerited Gift Given Randomly, Stupidly.