Today, the morning brought rain, not an uncommon occurrence in Florida.

I was awoken by a vivacious schnauzer, rested and refreshed from a long night’s sleep by her mistress’ side, as it is the case every morning. My youngest yelled a quick goodbye, as he ran to catch his ride to school.

The smells of fresh-brewed coffee, cinnamon-dusted oatmeal, and rain on freshly cut grass filled the house, and my oldest son’s murmured, sleepy “mornin’ Dad” gave this day the semblance of a day like any other day.

Work is the same, no problem is new, no problem is old. Work is the same.

Everything today is happening in perfect order, and yet I feel strangely out of sorts.

The sameness of today is not the sameness of yesterday.

Today I woke up in an America that stands on the charred remains of the American Dream.

The hopes and dreams of our fathers scatter in the winds of change like dust.

Farewell, shining city on a hill.