Look Up, America

When we were children, my mother used to sing us a song on nights when the moon was out:

I see the moon;
the moon sees me;
the moon sees the one
that I want to see.

From where I stood this evening, not even 3 miles from the White House, I could hardly fail to notice the crescent moon and the evening star pinned against the dying day in the early night sky. It was impossible to mistake the image, and equally impossible to consider how, to so many people around the world, these are symbols of progress and light, respectively.

God bless the moon,
and God bless me,
and God bless the one 
that I want to see.