Shot one.  Collective intake of breath, shuddering.  Shot two.  Sobs break out.  Shot three.  The men weep. The widow exhales and raises her chin, defiant and courageous. She is presented the flag from the honor guard as the hollow notes weave through the crowd behind her. She is elegant in her good jewelry and navy blue dress, poised on her sharp heels.  I can see our breath on the air. The rain continues to fall, indifferent to our tears.  The service is over. I can still detect the acrid odor of gunsmoke, silent and invisible now. He brought many of us together today, back in his hometown after so many years spent scattered the four directions the winds blow. Family from all over the world, friends he knew, some he never met through simpletractors.com. I knew one, a former supervisor at the Co-op. He said he’d never met Kent, but wanted to pay his respects. He’d never imagined seeing me there. You never know where I might pop up.  Friends from his graduating class and mine, there with our aging parents. People I haven’t seen in many years, old neighbors and people with babies that I remember as babies themselves.  There were pictures and his plaques commemorating a job well done for 27 years. A patriot, proud to serve. There were plenty of mourners and lots of handshakes and hugs. There were many…