Reflections

 

It's a misty morning, and looking out my window I see the soft glow of my roses and it warms me nearly as much as does the fire in the grate next to me. Still wrapped up in my bathrobe, sipping my second cup of coffee, you can feel autumn in the air.

I'm thinking about yesterday, about September 11th. Although there were articles in the papers, and stories on the news, and though the President gave a speech, it all seemed a little forced this year. A little like a nation trying to prove that it hadn't forgotten. Perhaps it's because it's all been said before. There isn't much new to dig into, the personal stories have been heard, those left behind have spoken. We know that life has changed.

We all still tell the stories of "where we were and what we were doing when we found out". This, perhaps, more than anything is what I notice. That people you don't even know will suddenly--at the slightest mention of the topic--tell you their story with an urgency like a need that must be met. And as people share their stories, everyone draws closer, as if they are hugging themselves--everyone feels just a little bit more like a family.