It was a fair day, warm by the standards of January in the nation's capital. A breeze had blown for most of the day, propelling leaves along the ground, making light scraping sounds as they skidded along the concrete of the sidewalks. The sun was hidden behind a bank of clouds, and thus the sunset was not accompanied by fantastic color, but rather by a dull fade from gray to black. Ripples rode atop the reflecting pool at the base of the Washington Monument. The obelisk itself stood watch over the place where many had gathered, abandoned by all save its watchful and unblinking gaze.
They had come from all corners; an impoverished couple from the inner cities of Washington had taken the day off to see. A Japanese tourist was there, snapping images of the area so tightly-packed with history that was not his own, but was nonetheless worth capturing. A group of children bussed in from Fairfax to the north of the beltway, whose history teacher felt that it was a day that would be not only significant, but invaluably informative. A family of four who had, together, worked at campaign offices, volunteered their valuable time, and felt it necessary to make the trip from Kentucky to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
There were millions, packing the National Mall to the brim, some hundreds of feet away. It may not have been the mere sight of the event that people wished to enjoy. No, perhaps it was the energy of the moment, of the day. Some, no doubt, attended simply to have a story to tell, or to forever remember exactly where they were on that day.
The dull roar turned deafening when the he emerged from behind the stage. It was like an open-air stadium, though whatever of the noise was lost from lack of enclosure was regained and then some from the sheer numbers. The ceremony itself was short, but the speech which followed didn't disappoint. It was rousing, pure, hopeful, just as those in the crowd had expected.
As the night began to set in, many hours after those millions had egressed, the lights in the White House flickered on. The historic home of the President of the United States looked the same as it always had, but the air was different. Crisper, perhaps more optimistic or hopeful. The eyes of those observing could see no difference, but their intuition would say otherwise.
The lights of the White House were extinguished one by one as the night continued, a brutal cold setting in around the District of Columbia. And so ended the first day of the Presidency of Barack Obama. It had been a difficult road, but it had been paved; from here on, he was forging ahead with no path to mark his progress.
They had come from all corners; an impoverished couple from the inner cities of Washington had taken the day off to see. A Japanese tourist was there, snapping images of the area so tightly-packed with history that was not his own, but was nonetheless worth capturing. A group of children bussed in from Fairfax to the north of the beltway, whose history teacher felt that it was a day that would be not only significant, but invaluably informative. A family of four who had, together, worked at campaign offices, volunteered their valuable time, and felt it necessary to make the trip from Kentucky to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
There were millions, packing the National Mall to the brim, some hundreds of feet away. It may not have been the mere sight of the event that people wished to enjoy. No, perhaps it was the energy of the moment, of the day. Some, no doubt, attended simply to have a story to tell, or to forever remember exactly where they were on that day.
The dull roar turned deafening when the he emerged from behind the stage. It was like an open-air stadium, though whatever of the noise was lost from lack of enclosure was regained and then some from the sheer numbers. The ceremony itself was short, but the speech which followed didn't disappoint. It was rousing, pure, hopeful, just as those in the crowd had expected.
As the night began to set in, many hours after those millions had egressed, the lights in the White House flickered on. The historic home of the President of the United States looked the same as it always had, but the air was different. Crisper, perhaps more optimistic or hopeful. The eyes of those observing could see no difference, but their intuition would say otherwise.
The lights of the White House were extinguished one by one as the night continued, a brutal cold setting in around the District of Columbia. And so ended the first day of the Presidency of Barack Obama. It had been a difficult road, but it had been paved; from here on, he was forging ahead with no path to mark his progress.
1 comment:
Post a Comment