Hidden From View

“I don’t understand why you don’t like the snow, Grandpa. Look at how beautiful the hills look, tucked under a blanket of white. I love how the starlight reflects off the pristine snow. It gives the field a soft, winter wonderland look. Everything is so beautiful, Grandpa. I see nothing here to dislike. Didn’t you tell me this is where you grew up as a child?”

“It is where I grew up, Mary, and that’s why I wanted you to see it like this, hidden from view by the snow. It was so much different when this was my home.”

“I don’t understand, Grandpa?”

“I was born during the war. This land, once used for farming and grazing cattle, was flat and easily tilled before it became a battlefield. The rolling hills and gullies are remnants of all the blasts by mortar and artillery shells. By that stand of trees is a snow-covered cemetery where your uncle and many others are laid to rest. A thick covering of snow is all that keeps us safe from the unexploded ordinance that remains strewn haphazardly around the pasture. It is where people came to die.”

“Why have you really brought me here, Grandpa?”

“So you can learn about life, Mary. Many things are beautiful on the surface. What’s important is learning how to look past the facade to see everything buried beneath the snow and truly understand who or what you’re dealing with.”

“I understand. Love you, Grandpa.