I thought to myself it was far more sad to visit this cemetary than other old ones. To think these federal cemeteries dot the entire continent. Some of the graves are of fallen soldiers, unknown soldiers. Others are of deceased military men who died after their years of service, like my grandfather who served in the Marines during WWII. It is sad because I understand these people, a little. These are the graves of those who believed so much in their country they sacrificed much for it. Of course, some of the markers for those who died in Vietnam belong to men who may not have wanted to serve, but still faced the draft with honor. In any case, I stood amongst these markers, whispering the names to myself, and looked at the trees. The soldiers are the trees, now. They keep watch over their brothers and sisters, and guard the hearts and minds of Americans with vigilant honor. If you ever get a chance to stand in such a cemetary, I urge you to do so, no matter your political convictions. It will speak to you of America.