RSSA perfect storm.
Carolyn Hileman | October 30, 2009
A perfect storm.
Carolyn Hileman
The clouds are getting heavier, the sky is almost black, the sun has not shown its face in days and the fog is as thick as mud. The rain is coming down in sheets now, the creeks and ditches filling up and spilling over. It is the perfect storm, the gathering of clouds upon the horizon, the gathering of anger that sounds like thunder through out the land, it twists and turns and moans as it reaches every single household and grips each person with a tingling fear. It is the epic battle of man against the machine, a machine so powerful that man is not sure this time it can defeat the machine, but still man will try.
It is a battle like no other, one of which you will save your very soul, a battle for the freedoms inherited by all and destroyed by others. It is a battle that will be fought by young and old alike each one fearing for their own lives as well as those around them. They will be up to their knees in mud created by the blood of countrymen and their hands will be worn and tired, but they will fight on. It is inherent in each of them the right to make their own decisions, to direct their own lives, to be their own person, to strive to succeed even in a world that punishes them for doing so, and so they fight on.
Spurred on by great fighters before them, they know the cost exacted for freedom, they are aware of the dangers of complacency and the lull of the promise of better times. They are aware that brave men fought cold and hunger to provide them with the freedom they fight for now and they will never abandon the fight. For you see, these are not just your every day men and women these are men and women who have tasted freedom and have no intention of ever losing that taste. Perhaps if they had never known freedom or had only a small taste they might have been easily beaten, but alas each of them were born to it, has taken it for granted maybe one time to many, but are now ready to die so that others may taste it too.
They are not all in uniforms, but they are many, they are brave and they are strong and they are waiting for the call. They run the local market, wash people’s cars, bring food to our tables, build our homes, and businesses. They take tests at school and give them, they watch the streets, they mow our lawns, they are the American patriots, the ones who took up the banner and waved it in Washington 1.5 million strong, they are the ones who sat at home watching wishing to God they could be there with them, they are the ones who only found out afterwards and wished they had known.
There is an anger growing in the farm houses and condos, in the shacks and in the mansions, there is a fevered pitch in their voices when they discuss the events of the day. There is a hurt, that has grown so deep and so wide, no band aid will ever be able to cover the wound. There are those who choose to ignore the anger and hurt and heap more and more abuses upon them and there is growing a perfect storm.
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