I hung our flag when I woke and went outside to feed our dogs. I always pledge my allegiance after I’ve hung it.
My husband asked which flag among those at the store would I like to display by our front drive. It is important to me. Made in the USA is critical and cloth. Nonnegotiable. As large as we could afford to practically hang. It is mounted to a thick wooden dowel. No flagpole. Instead, a humble aluminum fixture to uphold the heavy, often rain-soaked symbol. To carry this flag in my right hand, it leans against my right shoulder, close to my cheek with the wind of our V-shaped valley wrapping me in just a few centuries’ history.
I realize now the tradition that made the United States of America flag. It is a pieced quilt without the usual padding. Cotton pieces bound together. Essentially fragile in a way our country was and is. It was made with forethought to more stars as this country was made for more diversity. The white I’ve always seen as idealism, fluid values with a positive intent. The red is obvious as blood, much blood and, even now, more blood—theirs, ours and our own. Midnight blue to look up to with a brilliant constellation of stars.
(Photo credit in caption. Please click the image for more inspiration.)
This post © 2014 Sandra R. Davidson