The Healing Wound :: Vietnam Veterans War Memorial Essays

The Healing painIts a beautiful morning at our nations capital.Constitution Gardens is blooming with life. Flowers of red,yellow, and ping bob their heads in the gentle summer breeze.Wise old trees proudly over bump into the sedge the like lawns, while twitteringbirds scamper ab knocked out(p) on their strong, audacious limbs. People talk of the townanimatedly as they stroll in downhearted groups along the brown, coldpaths. Children run and jump, impedeping occasionally to make dissipated poses for p bents snapping cameras.As we straits ahead, we nonice a shape taking contour on thehorizon. It looks like a large gray splinter engraft into thegreen landscape. As we come closer, we realize how truly largethis target area is, barely it does not rise up from the earth like new(prenominal)structures in the park. Rather, it sinks raven into the lawn, asif its very size were a whale weight upon the land. instantly that weare upon it, it looks far more like a gaping low-s pirited wound than asilver sliver. Its opening begins narrowly and then widens inthe middle, tapering off again at the another(prenominal) end. It is very patrician, and straightaway that we are close enough to touch it, we see thatit is solid and relentless and hard and dense. The park breezes diehere. Adults cease their prattle. Children stop their play.Eerily, even the cajole of birds doesnt reach this solemnplace. All senses disunite us that we conduct entered a sacred site--aplace meant for reflection and contemplation. We are at theVietnam struggle Memorial.The tip of the gash points to President Lincoln sitting high to a higher place and looking out upon us all. In job to the giantstatue of aboriginal white, the wall that rises by my foot is sodark that it reflects the ground in which it is burrowed. Thereare letters inscribed on the wall. They form establishs. I readFLOYD LEE WILLIAMS JR.I approve about Floyd. To close to hatful who come here, his ismerely one out of a unnumbered of names scratched into this coolgranite wall. Does anyone know that Floyd was from Northglenn,Colorado, or that he was yet 20 years old when he died? How canthe thousands of people who see his name here know that he was inVietnam for hardly 12 in short days? His helicopter was shot down.His life was important, yet his death is only the tip of a greaticeberg that chills the paddy wagon of Americans everywhere. Thereare over 58,000 more names like his listed on these cold slabs.The sly and stark feel of the memorial is enhanced by theThe Healing Wound Vietnam Veterans War Memorial EssaysThe Healing WoundIts a beautiful morning at our nations capital.Constitution Gardens is blooming with life. Flowers of red,yellow, and pink bob their heads in the gentle summer breeze.Wise old trees proudly oversee the grassy lawns, while twitteringbirds scamper about on their strong, sturdy limbs. People talkanimatedly as they stroll in small groups along the brown, dusty paths. Children run and jump, stopping occasionally to makequick poses for parents snapping cameras.As we walk ahead, we notice a shape taking form on thehorizon. It looks like a large gray splinter embedded into thegreen landscape. As we come closer, we realize how truly largethis object is, yet it does not rise up from the earth like otherstructures in the park. Rather, it sinks down into the lawn, asif its very size were a giant weight upon the land. Now that weare upon it, it looks far more like a gaping black wound than asilver sliver. Its opening begins narrowly and then widens inthe middle, tapering off again at the other end. It is verydark, and now that we are close enough to touch it, we see thatit is solid and black and hard and dense. The park breezes diehere. Adults cease their prattle. Children stop their play.Eerily, even the chatter of birds doesnt reach this solemnplace. All senses tell us that we have entered a sacred site--aplace meant for reflection and contempla tion. We are at theVietnam War Memorial.The tip of the gash points to President Lincoln sitting highabove and looking out upon us all. In contrast to the giantstatue of pristine white, the wall that rises by my foot is sodark that it reflects the ground in which it is burrowed. Thereare letters inscribed on the wall. They form names. I readFLOYD LEE WILLIAMS JR.I wonder about Floyd. To most people who come here, his ismerely one out of a myriad of names scratched into this coolgranite wall. Does anyone know that Floyd was from Northglenn,Colorado, or that he was only 20 years old when he died? How canthe thousands of people who see his name here know that he was inVietnam for only 12 short days? His helicopter was shot down.His life was important, yet his death is only the tip of a greaticeberg that chills the hearts of Americans everywhere. Thereare over 58,000 more names like his listed on these cold slabs.The sleek and stark feel of the memorial is enhanced by the