Red, white and blue right outside my front door. To my left is a rusted triangular-shaped wind chime, with a heart-shaped pendulum dangling from it. [I bought it in San Francisco.]

The leaves are almost entirely off the trees at this point. A few survivors hang stubbornly to their limbs, refusing to leave home. I crunch down the walk, ruining the beauty in God's brown and yellow and red fall leaves. It's a shame to smash the leaves, but the crisp sound of the leaves breaking under the pressure of my foot, grinding into the sidewalk, create a mosaic of autumn beauty.
The rustling the leaves make as they drift down our quiet [subdivision] street sometimes reminds me of the creepiest scene in a horror film, right before Cujo jumps out of the trees and wrestles with Jason. Other times I look around for the kids in my neighborhood. I look to see the neighbors-across-the-street kids kicking a ball up against the garage or riding their bikes together. I look for my little Korean neighbor to be out with her miniature rake, dropping it and yelling, "SAWA!" when I go outside. I wait for her little feet to pad down the few sidewalk spaces into my open arms. I listen to her talk about "Willy kisses," and "dad sweeping!" I kiss her good-bye, watch her giggle back to mom or dad, her brown hair in her eyes and mouth and ears. I look for the medium-to-large dogs and the light [but expensive] jackets and the [finally] browning grass.

Red, white and blue as I drive my [red] car beyond our houses. Red, white and blue [and yellow] at the United States Marine Corps door next to us. Red, white and blue up our street past the [white] patriots. Red, white and blue down our street past the [black] patriots. Red and white and blue. Attached to garages. Attached to fences. Attached to homes. [To hearts.]
Red, white and blue as I leave my street. Red, white and blue at the firehouse at the big [loud, intimidating] intersection. The [blue and white] mountains stand 50 miles in the distance, beautiful [blue] and dangerous [white.] My mountains. My peace. [They say they're purple, the mountains. But my mountains are blue. Blue in the fall and winter. Sleeping.]

I bleed white and blue [and red] this day. I cry white and red [and blue] tears. I pray an honest [and pure], white, prayer. My mind is heavy. [Black.] My heart [red, with white and blue spots] is miles of emotion away. I stare at [white] crosses in the ground. Major and General and Sergeant.

Colors of skin and hair and eyes [all with translucent souls], below my feet. And in [little pink] houses somewhere flags fly and families remember.

I whisper "thank you"s that hang hollow in the air. [And sometimes come back to me, forcing salty water out of my eyes and into my mouth.] Whisper, "We miss you."

And on that cool Monday in November, year after year I love my country better and deeper and harder than the day before. And I love the ones who loved my country more than I do. Enough to die for us it me.