Up in the pre-dawn dark because it's an old habit -- I'll go back to bed soon -- and stumbled upon Fox feed of the President coming back from his latest rally on a huge helicopter, Marine 1.
We saw it coming from far away, just lights. Then it came so close that it was in front of the Washington Monument, it's silhouette, huge but insectoid, made clear by the lights on the Monument.
Gently it comes down on the White House lawn and we can see through the windows. The pilot is a blonde woman. Trump is talking to a blonde woman and a man, making his characteristic gestures. The three are almost knee-to-knee. Both of the conversants are wearing masks which they will take off before leaving the helicopter. Trump is not wearing a mask.
The back door is opened for what I suppose are security and press, the front door is opened, both are attended by Marines. Trump comes out, gives the salute, walks across the green lawn alone until he is close enough for the reporters to call out to him. His foot flop is controlled. He doesn't seem in danger of falling or to be disheveled. Goes in a ground level door without pause or comment, but waves.
Here I sit on September 19, in a village on a vast East Slope prairie, thousands of miles away, staring at a routine but miraculous flight among presidential monuments. It's quiet. I'm pinned to the screen by the idea that something drastic might happen. After all, Ruth Bader Ginsburg died yesterday.
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