Dust, Flies, Oh My!

This morning, a sienna-colored layer of dust hung over Kabul. Not a good sign, as there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. What's keeping it up? More importantly, where will I be when it descends?

Hopefully, tucked away in my cool little basement (the bunker's not so bad, now that the heat of summer is in full swing), swatting at flies with my straw fan. The insects are fearsome. We have now entered fly season - at least there is a season, and this isn't a year-round event.

A friend once told me that the highest honor an Egyptian Pharaoh could bestow upon a warrior was the Golden Fly, awarded for persistence in the face of overwhelming odds. I understand that now. No matter how violently I thrash, the flies blithely return, crawling upon my keyboard, settling delicately upon my sleeve, buzzing nonchalantly about my head.