writes Dispatches from Iraq.
"...Across from it four women sit against a wall, having sorted themselves by age. I'm guarding these women, who present an evolution in sorrow, which registers on the goggles as an evergreen glow.
The youngest, maybe 7, glows the least. But like a fish reeled up from the depths too quickly, her eyes are ruined. One points toward 2 o'clock, the other toward 9..."
Be sure to read his previous six dispatches. His writing is so beautiful it gives me chills.