Sunny 32 at rising.
Presidents’ Day, and the country cannot even decide what that means…really? Have we forgotten that we used to celebrate Lincoln and Washington? That the President was not merely a man/woman/personality? But rather an ideal. A principal. A symbol of leadership to a thriving, democracy?
Reading about Whitman during the Civil War. Absorbing perhaps for the first time the unbearable anguish of the period; the wounds suffered. The personal sacrifices offered and stolen. The man Whitman recording his thoughts and actions as he moved among the soldiers. From bedside to bedside at the hospitals. As he walked along the streets of Brooklyn and Washington DC. As he interacted with family and friends and intimates, his soul aching with the questions of life and death, peace and war, art and humanity.
And wondering…will we never learn?