Barack Obama Flies on Presidential Plane, Lands in Washington D.C.

Seeing Barack Obama alighting from one of the presidential planes was profound. I actually choked up for a moment. This was the culmination of years of struggle for African Americans to be treated fairly and given a chance. It must be an awesome feeling for his family have made history. There are no words to describe how they must be feeling. Barack Obama has landed in Washington D.C. to begin the next chapter in his life--as the next president of the United States of America. This isn't just about race, but about hope and a deep desire for change. Barack Obama will bear the weight of us all and it is my fervent belief that he will do just fine, despite all the odds that are stacked up against him.

As he boarded plane in Chicago, Obama waved to press and said he would see them in D.C. He went to the back of plane and said, "Well guys, I am looking forward to seeing you guys in Washington ... I gotta say I choked up a little bit leaving my house today. Obama said a friend of his daughter Malia "had dropped off an album of the two of them together. They had been friends since pre-school and I just looked through the pages and the house was empty and it was a little tough, it got me."
Obama ordered a cheeseburger on the plane, which is a Boeing 757 with big leather seats. He met Col. Scott Turner, who will be his Air Force One pilot.

Obama said he had taken a government plane before. He said his wife Michelle and their daughters were "having fun" and that he was looking forward to going to Washington. "Although living in a hotel for two weeks, we kind of did that for two years," Obama said. Source: Chicago Tribune

I am reminded of the poem Maya Angelou recited at President Bill Clinton's inauguration. I was moved by the words then and they capture the essence of Barack Obama's historic win. It is indeed time to say "good morning!"

'On The Pulse Of Morning:' An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here

On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,

Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long

Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,

You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.

Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,

If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear

The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,

Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts

Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space

To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.