Much ado this week about that day and rightly so: 6-6-06.
Eerie, profound, even haunting — images of evil winning and good men failing.
Never mind, none of it came to pass, I had no such fears anything would that day, or fears of any sort of that day or that date. Not this week. Not any week.
It is but a number, but one reflecting anything but a normal day.
Because on that day we focused on all that could go wrong, barely any mention at all, even after the fact, of all that went right on that day.
Not on that day, but on that day 62 years ago.
A day evil was vanquished. Another grim tide for mankind turned on the tides of Normandy.
You'd never know it looking at those beaches today. Except when you look a little closer, as I did, barely seven weeks ago today, at the white crosses... all those white crosses. The thousands upon thousands of white crosses, bearing the names of men too young to have sacrificed so much. But they did.
By this day, the day "after" the sixth of June, the day after the initial invasion, 20,000 men were dead. But a war had turned.
In the face of hell, one for redemption for free-willed men everywhere.
Served by brave men there on that day.
Commemorated these days.
Celebrated, I hope without fear... for all days.
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