By Sheila Provencher

The flocking birds wheel and turn above Baghdad buildings. Sunlight glints white on their wings. In the morning sun, their wings flash like light; in the evening, like blood. I do not know why they dance like this. I think it is simply for joy of the wind.

In Kerbala, during a visit to the hospital, I met dozens of bombing victims injured in a pre-Christmas suicide blast. Faces swathed in bandages; skulls stitched together. *Ahmed, age 32. Khalid, age 13. Students, porters, taxi drivers. And Simah, a 6-year-old shepherd girl whose legs were torn to pieces by gunfire.

By Chris Hondros in Tal Afar, Iraq
The Independent

It was a routine foot patrol. As we made our way up a broad boulevard, in the distance I could see a car making its way toward us. As a defence against potential car bombs, it is now standard practice for foot patrols to stop oncoming vehicles, particularly after dark.

“We have a car coming,” someone called out, as we entered an intersection. We could see the car about 100 metres away. It kept coming; I could hear its engine now, a high whine that sounded more like acceleration than slowing down. It was maybe 50 yards away now. “Stop that car!” someone shouted out, seemingly simultaneously with someone firing what sounded like warning shots - a staccato measured burst.