In The Name Of Love (standard:other, 878 words)
Author: J. Nicklaus	Added: Oct 03 2006	Views/Reads: 3474/2275	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Pride and Love, like still waters, run deep.

The well never truly empties, for if it does then so does the soul. My
feet ache, and middle-aged limbs begin their dire insistence for 
respite. Aged and ever-wisening eyes become the conduit for 
introspective appreciation; a solitary presence blessed by Providence 
to fill to the brim, once again, a chalice of self-evident truths. 

It's late afternoon in front of Capitol Hill and a light breeze
languishes across the grounds, overturning oak leaves, their colors 
cast in shades of faded mint and ember gold. The lawn is strewn with 
them. The area teems with people of many nations, different origins, 
languages, and belief systems. They're here as more than tourists. They 
descend upon the district to breathe the air of a system which, thus 
far, has exceeded the expectations of some, chagrined others, and been 
forgotten or taken for granted by the majority. Each person here is a 
willing participant in the passion and vision which history has 
bequeathed us. 

God Himself crossed the paths of our forefathers. It seems
unquestionable, beyond the scope of any plausible deniability—men of 
fortitude, vision, heart, and even pugnacious audacity, brought 
together not so much as conspirators of absolute rule or domination, 
but as the progenitors of the just, the parental accord for the 
children of freedom. 

I have walked much for one day, yet every footfall a labor of love. I do
it not from obligation, rather need—an almost insatiable desire to 
imprint the essence of America upon my deepest conscience. The humblest 
recesses of my heart know well this ardor; it manifests most every time 
I hear the strains of the Star Spangled Banner. Yet somehow I fear, 
however needlessly, I don't show it. That in my oft resolute silence I 
shall miss the window of opportunity to hand to my son the gifted 
emotion of Liberty, derived not of loquaciousness, but from heartfelt 
observation and dutiful attention to sovereign pride. 

We the people have within our grasp the perpetual honor of teaching our
children things which sterile textbooks can only dream of 
imparting—what it took, what it means, what it is to me American. 

I sit and write, literally under one of the lamp stanchions at the top
of the steps leading to the Capitol building. Atop the balcony, just 
below the rotunda, a flag waves in the breeze--a flag borne of a people 
craving to make their own destiny, to “start the world anew.” In mid 
pen stroke I'm approached: 

“Excuse me, do you know where the Lincoln Memorial is?” I grin at the
stranger, stifling the urge to point at my heart. 

“Well, come over here and I'll show you.” I leave my belongings at the
base of the stanchion, stepping to the left until we can see down the 
center of the National Mall where the Washington Monument punctuates 
the halfway point. 

“See the Washington Monument,” I say, like an idiot. 

“Yes.” 

“Walk straight down the mall, past the monument, and you'll run right
into it.” He thanks me and disappears. On a clear day you can see the 
Lincoln Monument from the Capitol steps...but not today. A veil of 
dirty cotton haze obscures it. But he'll find it; she calls to anyone 
within proximity, beckoning everyone to be inspired. 

As I return to my makeshift desk, I look up to see a group of three
people, two women and one man, sitting upon the first tier of six steps 
leading to the Capitol building proper.. One of the women fouls my 
personal sanctity of this place with a lit cigarette. A few moments 
later, a family of four, perhaps Hindus, descend down the same steps. 
Yet another group of British tourists meander across the path in front 
of the Senate wing. Slight irony there, I'd say. 

It has been a beautiful day to be an American in D.C. The large walls
which once surrounded the Washington Monument are gone now. The 
fountains play in the World War II Veterans Memorial, and the 
Reflecting Pool once again undulates with water. And still, yet another 
unexpected surprise: I am able to walk around the south side of the 


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