As I passed the Post Office early this morning, I noticed three Federal employees standing out by the flag pole. The American flag at the top of the pole whipped back and forth in the wind, against the promise of a beautiful, new day.
Then I noticed something. Something that gave way to sadness.
One of the employees had, crumpled up in his arms, a flag. It looked to be an older one, but I couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Old Glory was in a heap, parts of her spilling over his forearm as he shifted his weight from one leg to the next. The three men stood there for a bit, smiling and carrying on conversation.
Then the light ahead of me turned green. As I accelerated slowly toward work, I carried a bit of that sadness with me.
the toenail 