Standing on high ground, looking down on the confluence of two historical rivers, I see time splayed out, currents coming at me in two directions. They flow past. A hot day in a peaceful time in a place that war once touched. A hawk soared past, a snake slithered on the steep path as we ascended. A wild turkey, startled, crackled into the air from piles of dried, holey leaves. I always wonder if wisps of the past remain like the last of a a morning dew, to remind us that these places once roiled in cataclysmic death. And on the way home, we passed the bloodiest place, Antietam.