Writings on the Armor-Plating

And again the dry Afghan air, the Afghan light that carries in it tiny particles of copper and brass. This swarthy yellowness can be seen on people's faces, on the baked earthen structures, in the azure of the tiles, and in the sandy floods of deserts where caravans of camels head in all directions like thin arrows. The green helicopter flies over a steep slope. Its fuselage sways, deceiving the infrared eye of the anti-aircraft rocket. Below the rotors are the checkerboard wheat fields, the barrels of the "AKSs" slung over the soldiers' shoulders, the pages in your notebook—all covered with the tiniest particles of brass dust. A yellow shell-casing that has been run over by a tank glistens on the road.