Just a quick image for your morning’s reflection.
I listened to President Obama’s speech yesterday. He made a stop at Bayliss Park here in Council Bluffs, Iowa. The park is close enough to my house that I could hear his voice and the crowd cheering through my open office window. I followed live televised coverage of the speech on C-SPAN while I worked, with the window open. As I listened to the sounds of our city, and of the president speaking, I couldn’t help but think of Walt Whitman’s poem I Hear America Singing.
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or
at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.