1 minute read
Geo. Staley
We Are Here
Standing beside the solitary Custer obelisk early one clear fall morning, I looked down the hillside random markers of 7th Cavalry dead and beyond to the endless rolling terrain.
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My gaze melded with the lingering essence of the long dead and what they faced that June 25th afternoon too many mounted Indian warriors the roar of guns and horse hooves dust and smoke no help to be seen no escape.
Would it have eased their panicked minds to know they’d become, collectively, famous? Did they wonder why they’d been sent? Did even one of them consider he was dying for America’s sins?
That fall morning, how could I not understand if each only had this thought: I am going to die.
