Nomadic. Storyteller. Soul searcher. Experience hungry. Music carnivore. Dreamer of better things. They call me H.C. You can find stories about my travels, stories from my decades on earth, and thoughts about why the world turns in our vast universe.
I stepped out of the taxicab and into a night filled with mystery and power. Shimmering lights illuminating drunk politicians and dirty money in dimly lit pubs.
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I sip the wine and cast my gaze onto the streets of the District of Columbia, and wonder what the morning will hold.
Morning comes and I find myself walking the streets, using the tip of the Washington monument as my guide. Throngs of tourists from various countries empty large buses and shutter click memories like rapid gun fire. A lady holds a selfie stick in front of her, and loudly talks to herself as she walks, oblivious to her surroundings.
I escape this early Saturday morning madness, and start strolling the National Mall.
Overcast skies blend with the fall colors to create an aura of reverence. The veteran’s of our country’s past wars fill me with solemn tears as I silently pay my respects.
The American Revolution and the Civil War.
World War I and II.
Korea and Vietnam.
Our present day nightmare of terror.
It’s fitting to end at the Lincoln Memorial, a temple constructed to house the memory of President Lincoln. His inspirational words are forever etched in this spiritual dwelling.
I leave with a better understanding of our forefathers, and the sacrifices of the many that came before me.
Fitting that this is written on the remembrance of Pearl Harbor.
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