George Washington

The path from Lincoln took me due east through a tree-lined sidewalk that would have made Georges Seurat proud. “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” was replaced by a late Wednesday evening on a swamp posing as the nation’s capital. For the most part, I walked along the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool mesmerized by the image of the giant monolith in front of me, of the memorial behind me and the trees lining it against the sky. It was beautiful in its cool quietness.

On the way to the Washington Monument, I stopped for a while at the National Word War II Memorial. Fountains fascinate me, this particular one surrounded by 56 giant pillars representing DC, the states, territories and commonwealth nations. I went straight to Indiana, the state that I will always call home. I thought of my family’s migration to the United States when I was but a little boy, my sister not even a glint in the speck of my parents’ eyes. Soon after, I broke my thoughts heading to the Washington Monument.

Circling the gigantic obelisk, the tallest of its kind, I found a place to sit within its inner sanctum on a bench in front of one of the flags, as he proudly stood tall amidst the night sky dominated by muted reddish clouds that provided a somber backdrop to 11:39 PM. I am an hour and a half the way into my journey this late evening. With Lincoln behind me and Jefferson yet to come, I take a moment to give thanks for waking up this morning. I love the nighttime, and there was a time not too many years ago that I lived for it.

Jefferson awaits.


Go Adventure. Go Travel. Go Live.

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