There’s a stillness and withholding in this scene that, for me, fondly recalls Edward Hopper. But note also the gentle breeze ruffling our national flag. It’s sunny but not exactly warm out there somewhere in America’s heartland. The house’s interior signals absence and the barren tree suggests the season’s end. There’s a lone soul on a porch swing, presumably Eve, pondering God knows what. And is that red door portending what it is that red doors sometimes portend?
Dear Eve,
It’s hard to describe how damn hot it is here. And there’s insects the size of baseballs that hurt just as bad. A guy in my unit, Clancy from Tallahassee, got himself bit so many times on his ass that Doc Wheatly had him soak for hours at a time in vinegar and water. That seemed to do the trick though he couldn’t sit down for over a week! We move out tomorrow, probably up north but they won’t say where. Most everybody seems to welcome the change. All except for the guys who’ve already seen action, but they don’t like to talk about it. I promise I’ll keep my head down like you said. Sorry for the short letter but the mail’s about to get bagged. I’ll write again first chance I get. Give everyone back home my best. With any luck I’ll be home for the holidays. I love you more than you can ever know.
Yours always,
Trent
Great Exudations 