I lived in New York City in a seventh-floor walk-up and my kitchen window gave an unobstructed view of the construction of The Towers. The steel rose and I watched it rise. Part of New York. My New York. The city of can-do, the city of excitement, the city of promise.
I left New York decades later. I moved to Maine where I created rustic decorations to grace the opulent tables of Windows on the World and I mailed them to my New York. The city of whimsy.
I called a New York friend one September morning and screaming sirens obliterated our conversation. With millions I watched as The Towers imploded --- the impossibility, the disbelief, the numbness, the horror. Alone I stood at my Maine desk and furiously slathered colored chalk dust upon paper in a feeble attempt to retain sanity. New York. The city of terror, the city of pain, the city of grief.
Another September. A clear day in my New York. Steel again rises and with it the hopes of millions to honor the world’s grief and to embrace anew a glimmer of peace. New York. The city of promise.
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International