On the day he arrived he insisted on oysters and champagne. Not a nap? Oysters and champagne. "What shall we see?" we said. And the names we read from the signs sounded so familiar. Do you know your history? Do you need a map? Falaise. Carentan. Vierville. This is not the way we came. We gamboled about in the ruins and the trenches whose shoulders have rounded over the years. It was so bloody cold. Cold as concrete. You can make out Point d'Hoc from the air on a clear day, a little teardrop hanging off of the coast with a perfect defilade across the once-bloody beach. A stomach virus made its way through our merry little band. Somehow we survived Bayeux, Caen, Arromanches, beyond. Can you see? Then. As not so long ago.

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