“I followed your vision through the hellholes of northern France.”

Now, on a chateau hospital lawn near Ypres, she laughed beside him.

“Custance, nurse of my wounds, beacon of my desire.”

The purloined brandy, springtime lark song, and his idolatry bonded her heart to his.

Close by, field cannons rumbled.

Retired in Ontario, Gary Thomson has ample time to blow Satchmo’s and Beatles’ tunes on his Hohner harmonica.