My flag is tattered.
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It is the flag my Grandfather was proud to give me, now in my care. I have flown it with pride, but now its threads are weak and its stripes are separating. It flaps and flaps and comes apart as I watch. It is a great flag, but will not remain so without considerable attention.
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The wind is tearing it apart. Sometimes so gentle it is imperceptible, sometimes fierce in a storm, but there is always wind. The wind never stops. It may blow East, it may blow West, it may blow from any direction. My flag must adapt, shifting direction and rising up to accommodate the strongest of winds. But it cannot withstand the buffeting indefinitely without care.
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At times the stripes war against themselves, smashing each other with the energy of divisive gusts. The flag must be taken down and repaired, lest it become a mass of untethered stripes and missing threads. Left in this condition, it will not last long against the strengthening wind, and I fear a heavy gale is coming.
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My flag has been repaired many times before by those who came before. I now hold the thread. As do you. And you. And you. For it is not only my flag, but yours as well.
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Will we watch as it comes apart, or use the needle to make it whole again with the thread we hold?
