No matter which way I turned, the sky was full of them. I used to take them for granted.
Since 9-11, I don't take things like this for granted.
I remember when all the planes were grounded.
Churches were full.
Flags were flown.
Stories of heroism of the firefighters and bystanders filled the news.
Stories of people who stayed to help the dying and died themselves.
Stories of people who knew they would die, but went back to help others.
The dead were honored.
And stories were told by survivors buried under the rubble.
And survivors who miraculously made it to safety told their stories, too.
And survivors in other places spoke.
And and people left behind told of heroes who sacrificed everything.
While in another country, people danced in the street and celebrated.
What used to be a common sight, was gone.
Funny, when I lived in Phoenix I disliked hearing the helicopters. They usually meant that the police were looking for someone.
There's a little dirt airstrip not far from me. Some of the planes are noisier than others. I grumble.
Instead of grumbling, I need to remember when the planes didn't fly.
And I need to remember why. We all need to remember why.