Squarely in the "respect" category, along with my plans to visit gravesites of family members and loved ones who have gone on before me, was a chance to stop by the Flight 93 Memorial crash site in western PA.
It was a perfectly crisp fall evening (which, coming as I did from having recently relocated to Florida, was its own surprise), and the site itself was in the middle of the rolling hills of PA with a spectacular 360 view of the skies above. It's a bit of a drive from the turnpike back to the actual location on a winding road that helps set the mood for the memorial as you take every bend in the road waiting to see the field ... and I felt compelled to turn off the music in the car and ride in silence to the actual site.
Instead of random links that I usually affix to my posts, I'll include a few more photos of the pathway back to the wall of names, and the field into which the plane all but disintegrated. My experience while visiting was amplified by the stillness of it all ... with just a few other visitors at the time I went, it was a moment to reflect on what happened that day ... and what *could* have happened that day if average Americans hadn't chosen to take action ... in the process, providing the ultimate sacrifice.
The most powerful moment for me was the when I heard the noise of the jet planes far far above me, and noticed the plume trails of the heavily traveled path over this location way up in the vast skies overhead ... and I stopped to consider the randomness of it all. And as the flag flapped in the distance, I'll admit to shedding a tear for this tragedy ... and for all the death and destruction from that day and from what it triggered in the years that followed.
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