There's an old, tattered flag waving in the breeze out front; under a clear, true blue dream of an American sky, Jimmy's flag is waving for the country once again; and though its edges are ragged, the colors are strong, and vibrant, just as they were when it waved, framed by a Virginia sky, and waited for a sailor to come home. Old Jimmy would have wanted it this way, Lydia told me.
I raise the colors every morning; then I do a small salute and speak to ears that I know are listening near by.
Luis