We are in our third day of low hanging, cold clouds-the clouds of snow. The clouds telling us that summer is over. The clouds of cold breezes, of rapidly shrinking daylight plunging towards the winter sun, the clouds who tell us the best is over.
Normally that isn't our sky. Normally in early and mid September we are blessed with clear blue skies. That's why 9/11 happened on 9/11 and not, say, on 8/15. The terrorists knew the weather and knew the skies would probably be clear all across the northeast U.S. They were right.
Those are my memories too, of a 9/11/01 lunchtime, going outside briefly at noon, with police swarming all over downtown Binghamton (after all, we have a county courthouse, a Federal courthouse, and a State Office Building - and who know what would happen next?) and seeing that beautiful blue sky? But my thoughts were 150 miles away in my native city, wondering how many people I knew or were connected to had died a couple of hours before. I didn't stay to soak in that sun but went back to my office.
This year the clouds just hang, making the upcoming anniversary even more depressing. I shiver, waiting the cold bite of fall.