This morning I drove to Art Hill to see the Never Forget flag display I mentioned the other day. It was a beautiful day, clear skies and a breeze blowing that kept the flags out from their poles. The sight of them sort of grabbed you by the throat and caused tears to fill your eyes. They marched in straight rows across Art Hill. I immediately thought of Arlington National Cemetary and the row upon row of crosses you see there.
People came and stood, just taking in the view. Others walked among the flags, reading the names attached. Each victim’s name was on a flag. Some flagpoles had yellow ribbons tied around them. One had an Australian flag attached for an Australian who perished when the Towers fell.
For a space of a week, Art Hill has become a sacred place. There’s no hilarity as you view the flags. There’s just a recognition of how many people died that day in a battle we didn’t know we were fighting. Honoring them this way seems very fitting.