I thought I would write up a little blog to describe what Omaha Beach is like today. But I decided against it—except to say that the tremendous peace that is Omaha Beach today gave me chills. Walking on that beach is like walking on hallowed ground. One hardly dares walk there for fear of disturbing the spirit of all who have fought there and died there. Nothing is left of this horrendous struggle, except two bent metal rods that stick awkwardly out of the sand. Someone told me that, some years after the war, the French set out to clean this beach and to salvage what they could. They stored and saved, for posterity, which is us, all they could save. These mementos –battered tanks, rusted landing crafts, bulky, black radio equipment, mangled artillery, pieces of Mulberry Harbor—all are stored all around Omaha Beach, wherever there is a bit of open space or a nook or a cranny to hold them. And if you go, you will find them at every step, but before you go, dwell for a while on the beach—the peace you find there today is the one the soldiers and airmen died for.