The winds of September are a benediction, the caresses of three thousand souls wanting peace between brothers and peace among men, dreaming and breathing in the swirls of early leaves — a sad but noble essence forever ready to rise again. If we who are left behind forget — if we twist their final transcendence into a longing for war, we’ll have lost them utterly and ourselves as well, yet once more.
Peace to everyone. Peace. It’s a small planet. In spite of our greatest mistakes and offenses, we are and will remain — one.