Jan_Raffaelli
Current Gallery: healingfield-nineelevenmemorial ( piece)
HEALING FIELD The desert wind cools the heat of the day. The air is fresh, unlike the stinging, dust-filled air of 9/11. Row upon row, three thousand sentinels stand proudly – red, white and blue. The restless flags strain ceaselessly against their bonds. The sympathetic wind whispers, “Escape…escape.” But like the lives they represent, there is no escape. Each flag bears a tag, telling of a tragic loss – one name at a time, one life at a time. Saddest of all, a large, white-plush bear rests against a pole, like a lonely sentry. Its head upon its chin, as though weeping for the child who will never see it, never hug it, never carry it to bed in its protecting arms. The living walk slowly among the rows, pausing to read names and places, to capture the scene with their cameras and to carry away the memories. If one looks closely, the rows also seem populated with the spirits of the lost ones. They seem to say, “Heal – but never forget.” At the edge of the field, one flag bears the names of those who died, written on the red and white stripes, as if to say, “These have become part of the fabric of our nation.” Soon the flags will come down. The grass will be mowed and watered. The cemetery will return to its pristine green. But for those who came and saw and wept, there will always remain the memory of three thousand flags in the healing field.
HEALING FIELD The desert wind cools the heat of the day. The air is fresh, unlike the stinging, dust-filled air of 9/11. Row upon row, three thousand sentinels stand proudly – red, white and blue. The restless flags strain ceaselessly against their bonds. The sympathetic wind whispers, “Escape…escape.” But like the lives they represent, there is no escape. Each flag bears a tag, telling of a tragic loss – one name at a time, one life at a time. Saddest of all, a large, white-plush bear rests against a pole, like a lonely sentry. Its head upon its chin, as though weeping for the child who will never see it, never hug it, never carry it to bed in its protecting arms. The living walk slowly among the rows, pausing to read names and places, to capture the scene with their cameras and to carry away the memories. If one looks closely, the rows also seem populated with the spirits of the lost ones. They seem to say, “Heal – but never forget.” At the edge of the field, one flag bears the names of those who died, written on the red and white stripes, as if to say, “These have become part of the fabric of our nation.” Soon the flags will come down. The grass will be mowed and watered. The cemetery will return to its pristine green. But for those who came and saw and wept, there will always remain the memory of three thousand flags in the healing field.
Gallery-quality prints · Independent artists · Décor to adore
from $ 19
from $ 19
from $ 19
from $ 19