The president wakes suddenly. It is either very late, or very early, depending upon one's perspective. For a tiny moment, the president has no particular perspective; then the sounds: the old clock ticking, the big house--slave-built, and he always smiles ruefully at the irony; the rhythm of the first lady's breathing beside him as he stares up into the dark.
In this tiny moment his mind is free of turmoil; the demands of office, but more the split, the divide that threatens to further rend a country seeming full of those who care not for the common good, but only their selfish interests--those who will not see.*
Then he remembers. Almost automatically the president reaches for his Bible. As his fingertips touch its leading edge, its small but strong spine, the president is reminded of strength...and of the dream that had awakened him.
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