A Proper Turnout

Two weeks of field reconnaissance had dulled the parade luster of my boots with shed grit and garden loam. Beneath the fringe of the armchair, I discovered a fallen square of soft yellow flannel. Seated upon the edge of the cable-knit blanket, I laid my shotgun across my knees and commenced maintenance. With firm, circular strokes, I buffed the black leather uppers and the gold toe caps. The stubborn film of outdoor dust yielded completely, revealing a clean, mirror-like gleam under the midday light. A soldier's dignity begins with immaculate turnout. Field readiness is fully restored.