The signs lined the road, curving along almost  all the way
into our polling place. Despite everything people had lived
through in these neighborhoods these last many days, 
there they were just after dawn, coming to vote.
The parking lots were full.

The woman who has been signing us in the last
couple of elections was there again, using a wooden ruler to neatly
cross each name off the list.

I looked around and saw some of the same men and women
manning the polls that I remembered from five or six moves
and 20 years ago. They were still here, fueled on coffee,
making the place hum.

And then it was just each of us and our ballots,
one name, one vote.

On the way out, more of the familiar:
a woman passing out the "I voted" stickers, the high school
band members and band moms and dads selling hot coffee and
oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, a candidate standing in the
frosty air as more people made their way in, shaking hands.

I thought of the people all over the country
doing this very same thing and I wondered what the
night would bring.