Festering

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There aren’t many days when I wake up, look around and say “oh, thank heavens, it’s overcast.”  Nine eleven is one of those days.  It probably will always be.

For many of us, the crystalline clarity of that September morning sixteen years ago will live forever as the symbol of something we lost, some innocent glimmer that can never be recovered.  On that day, we changed, each of us who lived through it and who didn’t willfully go back to sleep.  On that day those of us who had been hopeful,...