My pencil sat on the table, waiting for use. Meanwhile, I stepped up to the window, watching the dawn turn to dusk. Breath after breath, intrepid for excitement, I wake, with the rising moon, to the pulpit of the ages. Yes, these creeping days of the beautiful day of independence. Contrary to common belief, American independence really followed after 1782, seven years before George Washington ascended to presidency. Well, enough of that.
Spending a wonderful time at my cousins' house, I look around the beautiful, sinewy meadows of the Rancho Cucamunga suburbs. Together, late at night, my cousins' family and I hiked along a trail, seeing the entire city light up, ablaze, beautiful, from a distance so fitting that a panaroma of the lamp posts, of bustling businesses, and of cars on the highways ensues. The eye could only grasp so much.
Along the way, my cousins and I shared a warm chat about appreciation for this holiday and our prospects for future. Youngsters as they are - the oldest is heading to 8th grade - my cousins are quite indecisive (very expected). Perhaps, it hasn't hit them yet about the tranquil bodes of swift action and powerful moral choices. To go so far for a cause...
America has braved the turbulence of two centuries. In the midst of debt crisis, failing Medicare, impending presidential elections, Islamophobia, class inequality, and economic disunity, we look to a new light: each other, Americans.