After walking Gusta Sunday morning – aching to write this; fantastic still morning – crows squawking, muffled traffic noise, horizon beautiful in dawn’s early light.
Or was it despair?
C’mon, flags don’t have feelings.
I thought about ours flag’s proud evolution, era to era, before and after wars, from Union Jack, to Ensign, to Our Flag.
And I thought about our neighbour’s stars and stripes.
Oh my, what that banner must be pondering, with all it has witnessed.
I’d seen a candidate for the U.S. presidency, on TV, stand on land Lincoln walked at Gettysburg – wrapping himself in history to energize his flagging campaign. I found his speaking there repugnant and shameless when you consider those who died there, those buried there on that battlefield – where they perished to keep their country together by defeating those who were fighting to pull it apart. Mr. Trump was aiming to wrap himself in some symbolic connection to history. His performance, sadly historic, was appalling.
Aside from being overloaded from this political noise which drifts across our common border I can’t help wonder if we are being collectively silent, sitting on hands as it were, watching the world be ruined? Or witnesses to a couple more weeks of relatively inconsequential history – and then life will go on, return to normal.
Well, it might not be that important – I could be wrong, but I can’t imagine what normal is anymore – or what it become. So, I wrote about 1916 and 2116 - we’re at that midpoint of that and I wonder if we agree on the past, or if we are remotely dreaming a similar future.