When you when move away from the Washington area, one of the first things you notice is how quiet the skies can be.

The constant flow of government helicopters overhead is something of a hallmark of daily life in and around the Beltway. In Northern Virginia, pausing a backyard conversation to let one of the thundering Marine One choppers from the White House’s fleet pass by is not unheard of.

At one week since the bombing attack on the Boston Marathon, the sound of helicopters in the air in Boston now has a wholly different meaning. The full weight of the region’s law enforcement capabilities was brought to bear in Watertown as part of an unprecedented manhunt.

While most people could not see the SWAT teams in the battle dress up close because they were buttoned up inside their homes, the presence overhead of military and civilian agency helicopters was experienced first hand. On that Friday, the sound of helicopters offered a tangible, if discomforting, sign that every effort was being made. It hinted that this painful phase in Boston’s long history might quickly come to an end. It was not until Monday’s moment of silence for the bombing’s victims offered some closure for a region trying to put heartbreak and anger behind it.

That silence also offered a chance to show unity in the face of the bombing. A similar unity of purpose, more than fear, was also what drove the area’s residents to follow a request to stay inside well beyond the siege-like streets of Watertown. It was a sign of respect for law enforcement in Boston, and the surrounding towns. Why else would a Dunkin Donuts shop remain open for first responders in Watertown? It was an acknowledgment of the seriousness of the moment. Remember, the region’s residents are not prone to following rules for rules sake. Try driving here; it makes the Beltway’s road rules seem genteel. This was about doing a job, and doing it together.

The part of the population that was hardest to keep behind closed doors might have been children. It was like a snow day, yet with exceptional weather. Kids know in Boston a snow day means playing outside, usually in deep drifts and freezing temperatures. On a humid and sometimes sunny Friday during spring break it made no sense to the youngest ones why they should remain indoors. Nor should it. Nobody wants their children to live in a world where they have to practice lockdown drills at school and cancel play dates for fear of IEDs or suicide bombers.

The kids are back on the streets now. Driving is back to the way it was; courtesy is again as rare as a turn signal. The Humvees and armed people clad in military gear associated with elite special operations forces are no longer a fixture on local TV, or in our darkest imagination. The armories are full again.

Above us, however, there are still the sounds of helicopters. How we hear them in Boston will never be the same.

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