Rural Ohio Voting

At last, the day arrives. It dawns warm and sunny. Mist rises from the hollers as we wind our way to the community hall.It is old and tired, a blue tarpaulin stretched across its bell tower.After one man leaves, we are the only ones here. We wish we could share the space all around us with those who must stand for hours.There had been a rush this morning--40 or 50 people, they estimate, more than these workers had ever seen at one time. Bill checks our stubs. He is number 27. Oh well. Twenty-seven looks like 40 when you live in the country.
They were working on a breakfast cheese ball and laughing, still talking about the crowds they'd seen. I took this picture when the laughter reached a crescendo, not wanting to intrude. In the background, Bill gets up from making his choices, while Liam draws a cartoon and waits. He will wear our stickers proudly to school.
It is so beautiful when we emerge from the hall that I stop and stare.

I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to be able to vote, to black in the oval of my choice.

Black in the oval. The subliminal mind is a beautiful thing. I must let it out more often.

Sleep well. I'll see you in the new day.