From the Taj Mahal

When I was a little boy, my mom always read to me.  One of the books she read  was titled “The Man Without a Country.”  It was about an army officer who was tried for treason during the Revolutionary War.  During the trial, he said he wished he would never hear of America again.  He was convicted, and the judge sentenced him to serve out his life sentence onboard ships and never again be allowed in America or to hear or read a word about America.  I never got over that story.  This morning, I woke up in the Taj Mahal, the penthouse suite in a high-rise in Knoxville, the whole top floor.  It is owned by a dear friend of our whole family.  They have loaned it to us while our home is being built.  Our contractor still needs a few days to get the basement finished, so we can at least move back into my studio while the remainder of our home is finished.  So we are a couple without a home.  We long to be a Fair Haven, but–the Taj Mahal is a grand substitute.  

My view this morning in America.