"Only in border towns do people know the price of peace."
Because the border fences move overnight, barbed wire stockades grow legs and strut backwards under the moon. In the sun, entire houses have been devoured by Russia.
A woman, in Georgia, milks her cow, who is in Russia.
A man awakens in the morning, only to find the road to his fathers grave has been swallowed wholly.
That was six years ago and he still cries about it.
But he does not cry over the houses, the farm land, the livestock. He says, "We are not afraid. We sleep peace fully, knowing the difference between wood and flesh, a threat and a promise."
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
"Only in border towns do people know the price of peace."
Because the border fences move overnight, barbed wire stockades grow legs and strut backwards under the moon. In the sun, entire houses have been devoured by Russia.
A woman, in Georgia, milks her cow, who is in Russia.
A man awakens in the morning, only to find the road to his fathers grave has been swallowed wholly.
That was six years ago and he still cries about it.
But he does not cry over the houses, the farm land, the livestock. He says, "We are not afraid. We sleep peace fully, knowing the difference between wood and flesh, a threat and a promise."
Wrote this after watching the Anthony Bourdain episode in Georgia. His last observations were quite poignant and inspiring.
