"Go on with your normal day." That's what we were told to do on this 10th anniversary of 9/11. So I went for a run, practiced the piano, and cleaned the kitchen. I went to the grocery store, took a nap, and did laundry.
I walked to and from the laundry room, white basket balanced on my hip, held steady with my right arm. And with every airplane that flew overhead, I couldn't help but look up. I did my best to suppress the paranoia that no doubt crept over the majority of New Jersey and New York. Neck craned and imagination running wild, I followed the jet soaring above that was no larger than a dot in the sky. It glided from one horizon to the other, momentarily being eclipsed by a tree branch that arched overhead. It was then I noticed a birds nest I'd never before seen, tucked firmly within the sturdy limbs of the mighty tree. I wondered what birds had hatched and lived within the woven walls of twigs and leaves. "They're safe up there," I thought.
At sunset, two beams of light glowed for only 10 hours out of the year. They began on the ground where the towers once stood, and extended above the tallest skyscrapers in New York City. Neck craned, I could not see its end, through the clouds, beyond the sky, ever extending up into the heavens. They're safe up there.