11 Sep

My memories of September 11, 2001 are no more important than any of the rest of America who watched TV that day and were not relatives of those who were lost. Who sat from great distances as the horror of those three flights unraveled and were reported.

It was later that afternoon, walking the paved trail of a nearby park with my wife. A beautiful September afternoon. We walked in silence.

It was the sky.

As the sun chose to set on such an unforgetable day, the western sky was awash with clouds. Not just any clouds. Clouds in the shape of a huge angel, with a long white flowing train. She was traveling slowly across the sky, looking North, towards New York, I imagine.

I pointed it out to my wife, who was as taken aback as I.

An angel, sweeping the sky and headed north, her train trailing behind, turning to a darker dusk color.

It was appropriate.

Behind her, the day began to end in graduating tones of darkness.


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