Old Glory

My head’s always elsewhere — up in the clouds, chasing colors, distracted by pretty things.
But every now and then, something grabs hold and grounds me.

This morning, it was a flag.
Old. Worn.
Still standing tall.
Slow dancing in the breeze rolling off the bay.

And when it held still — just for a second — with fire in the sky behind it,
I caught something.

Felt like September in the South.
When the light gets softer, but everything hits a little harder.

A proper subject.
A moment.
And a little grace stitched into red, white, and blue.