Photography
On Sept. 11, 2001, United Airlines Flight 93, carrying 40 passengers and crew members, crashed into a patch of grassland just outside Shanksville, Pa. Three other planes that had been hijacked by al-Qaeda that morning hit their targets — the World Trade Center and the Pentagon — but passengers and crew members on Flight 93 stormed their hijackers, and a plane thought to have been heading for the White House or the Capitol instead crashed in a field hundreds of miles from its intended target.
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
David Maxwell/AFP/Getty Images
The memorial for those who died on Flight 93 began with one memento pinned to the chain-link fence meant to keep people away from the crash site. Soon the fence was covered in photos and hats and flowers. By the 10th anniversary, the landscape had been transformed with walls of marble and groves of sugar maples and hemlock, long winding pathways and Queen Anne’s lace. A visitor could hear the voice of each passenger or crew member, see a name etched in perpetuity. This week, 40 different wind chimes inside the Tower of Voices, built 93 feet high, will play in the late-summer breeze.
David Maxwell/AFP/Getty Images
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Nothing about this memorial lacks meaning. The same can be said for the group of photographers who gather annually to visit the site and document the day of remembrance, among them Washington Post photographer Michael S. Williamson. Many of them have known one another a long time, sharing inspiration, lessons and their work with one another through the years. One year, Williamson, whose family has roots in Pennsylvania, also met his wife.
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
A few weeks ago, he visited the memorial to see how the late-afternoon light outlined the walls meant to signify the flight path of the plane before it disappeared into the field. A dramatic, almost wintry sky appeared while he walked the grassy pathway. He quickly gathered some rocks and created a tripod for his camera on a bench, his wallet the final piece. During the 30-second exposure, a lovely glow pulsed from the interior lights of the memorial as the blue sky melted into rosy shades in the dying sunlight. “Every time I come here, it is a profound experience,” Williamson says.
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post
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