Name: Anonymous 2008-02-23 8:13
The photograph is black and white. A harsh morning sunlight pours through the window, and tiny particles in the air illuminate and casts their shadows like tiny fireflies.
The reverse image of the window pane, like a drive-in movie screen, stretches forward and projects itself across the floor, carpeted in blue and tan, but only shown in shades of gray.
A bright reflection echoes against a mahogany desk, causing viewers to squint their eyes as if they were staring at the sun. It's only company is a finely crafted pen, and two small American flags standing guard.
Though the sun feels warm, it's January, and the time is winter.
A man alone stands beside his desk, refusing to occupy the chair that begs his tired legs. His eyes reach toward a vision only he can see, it's slightly above him, but does not reach the sky.
In contemplation he sighs. Drawing back on the memories that brought him here, but focused on a future that only he can see, and where it needs to go.
It is not pride in his posture, but a quiet confidence. It is a certainty that only he knows. It is a certainty that others, while unseen are staring back at him. They are mobilizing, from a call to action that he did not order, but encouraged.
His chin lifted up, exposing his long neck, his eyes focused and soft. His heartbeat is even and relaxed. His hand does not hold, but glides across that desk, that place, where he belongs.
He is home, but he is separated from all of those people that he drew so close. But he doesn't need to be among them anymore, for they are doing fine.
They are independent and strong, and are making the decisions that they need to make in order for his vision to become reality.
He is Barack Obama, and he is our President.
We are the people, and we are his Leader.
That photograph is the future we seek.
The reverse image of the window pane, like a drive-in movie screen, stretches forward and projects itself across the floor, carpeted in blue and tan, but only shown in shades of gray.
A bright reflection echoes against a mahogany desk, causing viewers to squint their eyes as if they were staring at the sun. It's only company is a finely crafted pen, and two small American flags standing guard.
Though the sun feels warm, it's January, and the time is winter.
A man alone stands beside his desk, refusing to occupy the chair that begs his tired legs. His eyes reach toward a vision only he can see, it's slightly above him, but does not reach the sky.
In contemplation he sighs. Drawing back on the memories that brought him here, but focused on a future that only he can see, and where it needs to go.
It is not pride in his posture, but a quiet confidence. It is a certainty that only he knows. It is a certainty that others, while unseen are staring back at him. They are mobilizing, from a call to action that he did not order, but encouraged.
His chin lifted up, exposing his long neck, his eyes focused and soft. His heartbeat is even and relaxed. His hand does not hold, but glides across that desk, that place, where he belongs.
He is home, but he is separated from all of those people that he drew so close. But he doesn't need to be among them anymore, for they are doing fine.
They are independent and strong, and are making the decisions that they need to make in order for his vision to become reality.
He is Barack Obama, and he is our President.
We are the people, and we are his Leader.
That photograph is the future we seek.