Empty skies. Both of clouds and of patrolling machines.
The rise of the morning sun was spectacular to behold.
Bright yellows and startling blues above and the smear of greens and earthen browns below captured the artist’s soul within him.
Jake flew unmolested south and east from where he left the general and eventually slipped over the Allied lines just a little south of the low marshes of St. Gond. Deciding not to tempt his fate by facing a daring Frenchmen hunting the morning skies in their single engine Nieuport scouts, he brought the Rumpler down to a graceful landing in a field containing more than a dozen campfires of a large group of French soldiers. The gruff, tired-looking men turned out to be French Poilu belonging to General Ferdinand Foch’s Ninth Army. Jake, sitting at the
