Among the old patches and trinkets, entombed in cedar cigar boxes and wrapped in old uniforms, the notebooks I carried across Hell's half acre lay and molder.
Sometimes, I find a nodeshell that needs filling. And sometimes, a dusty old diary gives up some of its secrets.
These nodes represent some of what happened during almost seven years in Afghanistan as an active duty military member and civilian contractor, and some of the reflections that came afterwards.