I was sitting on the front porch of a house in Fredericksburg Virginia, a stone’s throw from the Rappahannock River. When the house was built Virginia was but a colony. I was smoking a cigar made in Cuba that was purchased in Montreal and my little speaker was playing “Last in Line” by Ronnie James Dio. A firefly buzzed nearby and in its light, a bright red cardinal sat perched on a magnolia branch, and while I was uncertain about what this juxtaposition of stimuli might mean, I was thinking about our country.
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