Irony is when you're in Afghanistan, looking out across a river, looking at a small serene village. You watch the children play in the field, watch the men and women harvest the corn.
You think how peaceful it is, how beautiful the scenery is, as you listen to Vivald's "Four Seasons."
And in the midst of that peaceful scene, you hear the sound of machine guns echoing throughout the valley.
But it doesn't change anything.
The children go on playing, the men and women go on harvesting.
And you shake your head and think to yourself what a wonderful place this could be.
