It has been well said that freedom is never free. It is easy sometimes, born into freedom, to consider it a birthright. We might lose sight of the price, being so far from it. I have never fought on any foreign shore. I have never spilled my blood defending this glorious nation. Far removed from the smoke of the battlefield, it is easy to lose the cries of freedoms battle.
The sound of freedom is not the big brass band. That is the celebration of freedom. The roar of the crowd is not the sound of freedom. That is the triumph of freedom. Summer dogs and burgers are not the taste of freedom. Sparklers and fireworks are not the fire of freedom. They are just the glitter.
The sound of freedom is the last gasp of a soldier. It is the soft sob of a mother clutching the folded flag. The taste of freedom is the acrid mix of gunpowder and blood. The fires of freedom burn in the hearts of men and women, not in the burning metal rods we wave. The band, the roar, the dogs and burgers, the sparklers and the fireworks, are all good if we don't lose sight of the price of freedom.
Sometime in the middle of your reverie, take time to remember. Take time see the flash of freedom. Take time to taste the coppery taste of freedom. Take time to hear the gasp and sob of real freedom. Find a way to feel free.