I have a ritual when I vote. I’ve been going to this polling station since April, 2000. So with primaries and such and regular elections, I’ve been a couple of dozen times. It’s on a quiet street, not much traffic, right next to some woods with an old plantation house still there. Early in the morning, the polling doors open awhile, I’ll park in the corner of the lot, close to the woods. I think we can gather peace close to Mother Nature. She helps me to think.
The birds chirping, cicadas maybe this time, maybe leaves rustling or just the sound of the wind. I can see the sign on the door, the small front lawn riddled with placards. The few folks there to hand out their wares. The empty sidewalk stretches out and disappears around the corner. It’s quiet and peaceful. I can think what I think. Not about candidates or issues, those decisions all prior.
I think about what an honor, what a glory this is. I think what a responsibility I have in my hands. I think about the souls, so many before me. True patriots who paid, with all that they had, for us to have this treasured Right. This takes some time and is never enough. I’ll pay tribute to their sacrifice, no doubt shed a tear. I’ll think voting, so easy, when compared to the cost.
Then I take a deep breath, gather strength and resolve. Then absolutely revel in this Right, so dearly bestowed. Thanks to them, the world will know I was here, my voice indeed will be heard. I won’t let them down. On this, I am sure. Thanks to them, my vote the strongest thing that I own. I will thank all those patriots. Hope their cost, not in vain.
My duty before me, I exit the truck. I can still hear the birds. Yes, sidewalk still bare. The peace and quiet once sought, now just seems to be sad. Even this sigh, too easily heard.
This voting, so easy, when compared to the cost.