Your dreams.

Leaves are drifting in the early autumn breezes here in these flecked hills of the hands that built America. It’s a long way we’ve come, rather been led. Time to start living out our dreams and not those of the ones with eyes of coal. Time to return home, where the brave reside, where the land is free…it’s the last frontier. Who will embrace us into her far-reaching arms, if old glory thrusts her hands up and surrenders? I keep coming back to these signs, my favorite designs both visible in this shot, and cry out into the wind, what do we do now with America in peril? Have we fallen too far into this hollowed plane…are we still in the picture? If we continue to twist and turn away, our children, their children and generations down the line will end up paying the price years from now for our lack of gallantry, graciousness, and honor. We are all in the battle; how will you choose to defend and honor?

All the promises, to the grave and beyond rest in our hearts…walk around your grounds throbbing with generational agony and feel the resounding support from every heartbeat, every laughter and the many tears. Feel the ancestral spirit blow through you and rive the road of regret…we are who their hearts bled for in this moment. I dream of a sky ripped open, love reigning down us all sooner rather than later…running into the arms of America, into the hands of love. But first we must fight for our authenticity, for the authenticity of our children so that all that was defended for us was not in vain.