©Kerouac
I was born at the very end of World War II and it was a palpable presence in my California home as I grew up. That may be why I generally avoid anything to do with it while still being deeply moved by references to the war.
This morning I read a piece by Kerouac, a writer on other websites, who lives in France and for some reason I chose not to avoid it. It’s a description of what took place in a village many miles from the D-Day beaches, behind the lines in the French countryside just 4 days after the allied invasion and before the country could be relieved of the occupation.
Kerouac doesn’t simply describe an event. Like rings from a stone thrown in a pond, he conveys the ongoing effects of that day and the enormity of war drawn small, that seems to me even more tragic because we can so vividly imagine it in a scale the size of ourselves and our families.
Have a look, although I understand entirely if you choose not to. But it does give one some perspective, I think, to look beyond the grand commemorations. The world could certainly use some of his insightful perspective now.
