Union

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, illuminating the thin mist of the chilly night that had rested on the lake in front of the cottage.  With a warm cup of something in tow, this was a perfect Michigan day to inspect the flora and fauna now thriving after a winter that put eighty inches of snow on the ground in February alone.

The first thousand steps are everything we had hoped for, crickets just far enough away not to be stilled by our footsteps.  Two garter snakes and a fox see us coming and scurry to the edge of the road. As if on cue, the opening hymn of this morningsong service is a loon on the lake, its whistling chortle is an antiphon.

Our delight in the day has quickened our pace, requiring us to remove the hoodie we bought at the world’s largest gas station and wrap it round our shoulders. The sun has risen just enough to dim the tones of the choir, so our attention turns to flowers, the rebel weeds that insist on cropping up around mailboxes and in gullies.  It is an odd aggregation, but each of them beautiful in their own way, with even the less elegant ones deserving admiration, if only for their tenacity.

The journey continues to the back of the lake, where our wanderings require a little more purpose.  This is where the school bus takes in the three children who live on the lake year-round.  Holding the quiet of the start of the journey close to our hearts, we focus on traffic, and while we are thoughtful, we only hesitatingly release a “good morning” to the other walkers who, for reasons passing understanding, are always only on the other side of the lake.

At the far end we simply try hard not to feel uncomfortable.  Our carafe of warmth is now cold, but it is not a cold drink; just a hot one gone cold.  For reasons we can’t quite clarify, the thought comes it might be best to turn around and head home that way, perhaps being able to see that fox again, find the earlier morning’s shade still there, and not need to remember the loon’s serenade, but hear it in person anew.

That is where we find ourselves on the nation’s 250^th birthday, on a journey of national discovery.  We started out with a document of ideals, one that felt intimate and was easy to hold to. We continued to admire its beauty and potential as we moved forward, with other countries quietly stepping aside as our confidence inspired us to grow in well-being, stature, and world relevance.

We faced our halfway point with more ambiguity, having fought wars, both with others and ourselves, that tested those ideals.  These struggles continued, as events tested if we really meant what we said about justice for all and unlimited opportunity.  We continue to wrestle with these concepts, and with those convinced the best path is to turn around and recapture the glories we knew, sure they would still be waiting for us if we only had the wisdom to go back.

We stand in the slightly heating sun of an eight-thirty sky, the promise of our beginning an important memory that deserves more of our attention than we give it, the heat of the day testing its value, on a lake walk designed to take in the beauties of a more perfect union, a walk ever forward that has no end.

And this is why we are honored to be Americans.

Goods

Sparkier sparklers
More boom per firecracker
Rockets with red glare
That would inspire Key to write a fifth verse.

The lesson of this family reunion?
Always let a cop bring the explosives
Who has access
To the evidence locker.  

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