Five years ago today, I was visiting the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC,   hoping to capture an image of the nearly full moon rising over the Memorial to coincide with the anniversary of the Normandy Invasion.

Readers who have visited the Memorial know that its central feature is a large oval pool with a ring of small water jets and anchored at each end by two towering fountains.  A plaza surrounds the pool and at the north and south ends of the plaza there are two pavilions, the northern one dedicated to the Pacific Theater and the southern dedicated to the Atlantic Theater. I planned to position myself near the Atlantic Pavilion and shoot northeast across the oval pool as the moon came into view.

The image above shows the moon rising just next the flag about 20 minutes before sunset. It is a photomerge of 3 images with the camera in the vertical (portrait) orientation. (Technical Data: Nikon D700 with 18-200 mm f/3.5-5.6 lens set at 55 mm; exposure 1/5^th sec @ f/4.8, ISO 200) While the angle was good, I felt that it was still too early and decided to try again shortly after sunset.  It was a warm summer evening and a gentle breeze occasionally rustled the flags.

I turned toward the Atlantic Pavilion which can provide a very nice scene in early twilight after the lighting is turned on.  For example, the image below (taken a  few years earlier) shows a section of the fountain basin. The inscription on the back wall is the message General Eisenhower communicated to  the invasion forces as they were embarking for Normandy.  The sloping capstone in the right foreground is engraved with the major World War II battles in Europe such as Hürtgen Forest shown in this image.

But on that night, the 65th anniversary, the Memorial had become a kind of pilgrim’s quest for individuals with deep personal connections to that terrible day.  Some had come and departed already, leaving small mementos behind.  I approached the capstone to take a closer look and spotted a pair of dog tags, one of which had a tiny picture of the soldier to whom they had belonged. Small bouquets were positioned carefully along the capstone and I imagined that their location was chosen with care, resting on the place where the name of a particular battle was engraved.

I became aware of a woman standing next to me, just in front of the Normandy engraving.  She carried two small bouquets and seemed hesitant, uncertain of her next move.  I stepped away, allowing her to be alone at the capstone.  From a distance I watched as she placed the bouquets with attached ribbons on either side of the Normandy engraving, carefully spreading out the ribbons as if arranging a display.  She stepped back a few feet and stood silently for a moment contemplating the bouquets.  Then she turned and walked away.

I waited a few minutes, mesmerized by what I had just witnessed. All thoughts of the moonrise photograph had evaporated.  I walked back to the capstone and looked at what she had left.  There were handwritten inscription on the ribbons.  I bent down to read the words and realized  I was being given a glimpse into the past and that I had to take a completely different photograph than I had originally intended.

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The inscription on the ribbons in the foreground said:

“In memory & honor of the 316^th Troop Carrier Group,

left Cottesmore, England on the evening  of 6-5-44 for the Normandy invasion.”

There was a name on the second set of ribbons, a birth date and a date of death, June 6, 2008.

Postscript: Wanting to know more, I did some research. On that night, the 316^th Troop Carrier Group carried about 1,300 paratroopers and combat equipment of the 505^th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82^nd Airborne Division to its designated drop zone close to St. Mere-Eglise and returned without losing a single plane.  The Group’s precision provided the 505^th with the most accurate drop of the night.

Tonight, five years later, I’ll be thinking of her, wondering who she was and wishing I knew more about the message on those ribbons.