We were meant to be a special nation, from the start. I have no qualms about the prayer. This is my home. This is where I belong, not some other place on this Earth. The Air here, has been cleansed by the pines of New England, and sweetend by the orchards in California. The Waters here, both those that crash on the shores of Cape Cod, or on the beach at Oregon, or those that run under the dirt in the Mojave desert, or down our nation’s midsection, emptying out below New Orleans, are what fill our spirit with calm, or test our Spirit in it’s tenacity, when flowing wild. The Earth under us, here, whether moved by subway rumblings in New York City, or tremors outside of the Palmdale Bulge, is what feeds us with its bounty of grains and produce, worked hard from the resting soil, and the animals that we long to watch, or harvest in seasons. The Fires, whether explosive bursts from below, as Mt. St. Helens, or those we combat due to lightning strikes in the great forests, remind us that we are not permanent, and consumable in the crucible of time and history.
Yet, for all this beauty, this bounty, this awe-inspiring panorama of sea-to-sea, to sit and not be thankful, for one moment, would be a grave mistake, and a slap upon those who died defending all of this, for you, for me, for our children’s children.