Today is a lovely and bright day on Trump Island, but that just makes the dim, surreal feelings stronger. Some kind and loyal person, as has done every 9/11 that I've lived here, posted a photocopy of a victim's face and an interview with his fiancee on the tree next to our sidewalk and at the end of our awning. This notice, with candles and bouquets encircling the trunk, commemorate one resident and former neighbor who died in the World Trade Center. From my aerie high above, I hear bursts of multiple sirens in their everyday normality, but today I wander out to the balcony to survey for missing landmarks or columns of smoke.
Instead of waiting around, jumpy, for something which I hope will be nothing to happen, I think I'll go buy some flowers myself.
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