Darling Molly,

I sometimes lie here - half in the sodden earth, half out, listening to the
land explode there and abouts - wishing that I was elsewhere. Wishing that
the only thing I could hear was the world gently wending its way past the
end of our path. Wishing that the only thing I could feel against my skin
was your touch and the warmth of homely walls.

I live in this dream to escape the brutal reality. I drink morning tea
beside you because it washes the metallic taste of dried blood from my
mouth, whether my own from my fear-bitten tongue or the remains of some
unnamed foot eoldier, blown half away in this battle-scarred marsh.

It’s winter there, I know. I hope you are sat by the fire, counting the
days. I am sat by the fire too. It’s dawn now. I can hear crows cawing from
the skeletal trees, signalling the end of my nightwatch. Pray for a peaceful
day, please.

My love,
Dominic