Some among us solemnly observe that this is too hard to look at, too upsetting to remember.
Not for those who remember him, the Falling Man, as clearly as yesterday's sunrise, for those whom the image fills with a pulsing rage and a fervent prayer for retribution.
Yet others of our kinsmen choose to weep, to heal despite lack of wounds, light candles rather than torches.
They favor building memorials, while bestowing blame on the Falling Man for his own murder seven years ago this hour... on a bright, sunlit morning in the greatest, most benevolent nation ever in the world.
These are cowards, fifth-columnists, traitors, turncoats who have earned well the nation's hatred and disdain.
They are politicians, preachers, high government officials, mothers and fathers, the poor and the rich, the powerful and the unknown, the judges and the judged; journalists, veterans and teachers, young as well as old ... they who take far more than they give, those who can be counted on, but only to skulk away in the darkest hour, leaving the innocent and defenseless to the wolves.
Some of these are politicians who seek leadership and to command mighty armies, yet seek actively, and plan for surrender.
They and their ilk remain unmoved by a small, motivated band of American freedom fighters first to fight back in the deep blue skies above peaceful Pennsylvania farm land, first to inflict death upon on our Godless enemies at the sacrifice of their very lives... an act of singular heroism and love of country.
These craven legions never think of the patriots who ran to the fiery embrace of a certain and horrifying death to protect and save, nor do they regard and love the determined young men and who daily face their own horrifying deaths in distant lands for the opportunity to exact revenge in the name of the Three Thousand.
In the 2,555 days since, we've not been allowed often the image of the Falling Man in the purposeful stirring of an enraged call to arms because there are those among who quail at the first rumble of distant thunder, who refuse to ride to the sound of the guns; those who would rather live a lifetime on their knees than one grand-glorious day on their feet.