Who's Standard?

Don't Tread On Me

I look out my window in my winter quarters, down onto a balcony belonging to someone I don’t know, and rarely see.

For all the years I lived in rural Vermont, I flew the flag. I knew, that in our increasingly contentious national life, it could be easily misunderstood.

Either as aggressively nationalistic. Or as a challenge to the identity I consider bedrock: One nation, indivisible…liberty and justice for all.

Whatever it may trigger in the by-passing person, I insist on retaining my connection to our colors.

As we go through whatever one might call the current horror, the mischief of a handful who consider themselves the arbiters of our national fortunes, I will fly the flag.

“Oh say can you see… Our flag was still there…”

Whatever it may cost us – and the cost looks to be steep right now – we must cling to the place we have been bequeathed by our heritage.

Oh yes, I can see.

The flag is still here.