Journal #07.06.15

The sun has risen again, and everyone has gone to work. I work at night, so I am at home watching the light edge across the patterns on my couch and carpet, and the quilt my mother gave me. There is firework paper and debris all throughout the city. The night of independence saw me at home, drinking coffee and walking from front to back porch and back to front, listening and looking. From my location, rather central to this city, I could imagine skirmishes all along the perimeter as though we were defending our home from invasion. A strange sensation of patriotism crept into my heart as my imagination took hold. For my city has never been on the verge of attack. My person, yes. My character, yes. My philosophy, yes. But never this place on the map.