Rain

It's supposed to rain today and I find odd comfort in that.

The rain won't come until late in the day which will sort of negate my wish for the overcast. I long for a morning that doesn't look like morning, a morning that encourages oversleeping. Not all mornings, but THIS morning most of all.

The years when September 11 dawns bright and crisp with azure skies are a shock to the system that is so easily transported to other times. The rain mutes the day, takes the slightest bit of sting off the wounds of remembering.

And yet the whole idea of writing about remembering that day seems hollow. I was not there. I knew no one there. But New York was my city, a claim I stake having lived on Governor's Island with the Statue of Liberty and the Twin Towers rising in my watery backyard. New York made a big impression on a little girl.

Even weeks ago, as I watched my oldest daughter get her ears pierced, New York invaded my senses. I was again 6-years-old, sitting in a high stool in a jewelry store that happened to be located in the underbelly of one of the Towers. The excitement of getting my ears pierced was punctuated by the exciting locale. No matter where we were in the city, I felt a part of something thrilling.

Battery Park, Statue of Liberty, riding the subway. Fountains begging for coins to be tossed. Italian ices from street vendors. Paper fans and baby doll shoes from China Town. Fear. The dank scent of wet metal. Craning my neck to see the top of a building. Feeling astounded at the sight of tiny, tiny cars below.

I imagine New York retains that energy today, though the events of a day that started out just as any other day have changed it, and all of us.