I stumbled on the crater left by the World Trade Center by accident. It’s hard to believe that was 14 years ago.
This is mirrored from my Red Room blog:
After Mason and I crossed Broadway, we stumbled upon a memorial to the firefighters lost when the World Trade Center collapsed. Bright chains of origami cranes decorated the fence around an old brown church. Beside them hung tattered “missing person” flyers. Amongst the ephemera fluttered faded navy blue T-shirts, each silk-screened with a different fire company badge. My eyes stung, burned by the eloquence of those empty shirts.
Around the corner, we peered through the big iron fence into the churchyard. In the afternoon light, the grass glowed intensely green. Dense trees raised a verdant canopy above the old stones. I longed for the sense of peace inside, but a big padlock held the fence closed.
I wound my fingers through the bars and gazed at the old headstones. The graveyard seemed strangely familiar. Not until we came home and I…
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