The Song

It had its own song.  It came from every direction.  There were highs.  There were lows.  The dynamics changed from soft to loud then back again.  In this mix was a clever little girl with a sing-song voice.

She was a doll standing three – maybe four feet.  She was young.  She must have been trapped in an Air Conditioned home for the past week.  She was very excited to be out.  Maybe it was just the crowd.  Her voice carried over it in a lilting melody.  It was hard to tell if she was singing – although, her smile made her look like a successful Broadway actor.

Smiles, however, were easy to be found.  It was a holiday.  It was a time to be happy.  Everyone was waiting for the main event.  Little girls smiled for other reasons.  Parents for what was to come later.

Pops and bangs could be heard in the distance.  They tempted everyone.  It was too early, but still it caught attention.  “Is it starting?” “What was that?” “Did I miss something?” It was all a part of the song.

There was a chorus from down the way.  Kids were playing a game.  A ball was missed.  A Frisbee was caught dramatically.  Some amazing feat had been completed.  The superstar was embarrassed and everyone smiled.  There were lots of reasons to smile.

It was hard not to smile with the smell of cotton candy, barbecue, and sun kissed skin from a hot day in July.

Glistening skin is nice with someone special.  Similar points of view could be seen everywhere.  Their songs brought them oh so close.  A blush would keep some apart.  Gravity helped others fall through the bluff.  A bluff is what it was.  Who could resist a sweet song from a passionate lover?

They were paired on blankets across the hillside.  They were young.  They were old.  Kids raced in between them all.  That entertainment gave them reason to smile when one another was not enough.

Some of these pairings were very intense.  The rest of the world did not exist.  The couple’s songs eclipsed those nearby.  They were great beautiful sonnets.  Yet, they were minor parts of the larger song.

The conductor could not be found.  No one was really looking.  This was America at its best.  It is free-form jazz.  Stop groaning and discard preconception.  That is the truest definition.  This is America at its best.

The land of the free is just that.  Everyone here is a testament.  None of them sing about a sovereign country.  Their songs are about the life they live.  Their songs are about their love.  Hopes and dreams are subtle leading melodies.  The song brings us together.  We all want the same thing.  We want to be free.

Many do not understand.  Some do not hear the song.  A good number are frightened.  It is a powerful song.  The song threatens those that control.  That is ok – so long as they don’t stop the singing.

My wife’s hand is in mine.  My son is snuggling close.  Explosions are all around us. The night is alight with the finale.  It is a loud production.  One that will be taken home and filed with away with other fond memories from the home of the brave.


About jminto

Jason A. Minto is an Manager at Octo Consulting. He also publishes the webcomic Dropped Packets. Dropped Packets is a serial webcomic that documents that travails of Reg and Jack as they deal with Information Assurance in the workplace.
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