At sunset the western sky was marked with a fan of red streaks like the fingers of a cosmic hand stretching over the Pacific Ocean.
Arriving at the beach ten minutes later, I see a subdued sky still fiery at the base, a blazing omen of brilliant change.
We always seek signs from the heavens; for Noah the rainbow was a promise from God. For Santa Monica, often buried in coastal fog at sunset, today's spectacle speaks divine blessing, a new era.
As of this moment, our nation can stand for peace, not aggression. We can rejoin the community of other nations. We can lift our heads and smile, instead of dropping our eyes in shame.
It's not a time for jubilation and parties, like 1992 when Clinton won and we ran outside to our neighbors, yelling and honking horns.
I feel shaken, on edge, as if I've just walked away from a train wreck. Yes, I survived, but danger is near. Many people died in Iraq and Afghanistan; the economic crash will result in increased death and starvation world-wide.
It's a solemn time.
There will be a time to cheer, but right now I can only whisper a prayer:
May your name be honored.
May your new world come.
May your will be done on earth--as clearly and beautifully as in the heavens.
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