My imagination makes me human
and makes me a fool;
it gives me all the world
and exiles me from it.--Ursula K. Le Guin
An Urban Journal Exploring Place,
Purpose, Literature, Memory,
and This Time
September 11 - Sitting here at midnight, the television still on in the adjoining bedroom, still broadcasting reports on the terrorist attack this morning on New York City, I look out on the intersection of Henley and Summit Hill, expecting the streets to be silent. Traffic is light but no different than on any average Tuesday. Below, the parking lot of Chesapeake's is empty; an hour ago I watched two white-apronned kitchen workers toss the day's garbage into the dumpster. As happens at least once every night, the firestation beyond sounds its clanging fire alarm. A voice on the loudspeaker gives directions, and a fire engine, lights flashing and siren going, moves slowly thru the intersection. My cat sleeps on her imitation fur pad beside the computer monitor, her face twitching as she dreams. The night sky is clear. The world seems calm, unchanged, but it is an illusion that cannot hold.