My reflection on September 11, 2001.
© 2001 Steven E. Cutts
a Studio C recording, December 2002 /revised September 14, 2006
I don't recall I'd ever seen a sky so blue, so bright, so clean that I felt I was looking at forever.
Not a cloud on the horizon threatened storms or blocked my view of sun so warm and sweet in mid-September
'Til death dove down on silver wings -- ripped a wound across the sky.
Grays and blacks of smoke and cinders threatened to make color die.
A dusty avalanche of all that should by rights stand strong and tall
Brought darkness early on that perfect mid-September day.
The school-yard rang with shouts and laughs of boys and girls returning back;
Sounds of innocence confirmed the calendar had turned.
Summer made a feint to stay, but it could not keep the fall away knowing there were lessons to be learned
When death dove down on silver wings. Sirens split the morning air.
Panicked footsteps on the sidewalk; bad news broadcast everywhere;
Rumors about those who'd died; planes of war patrolled the skies;
Then an eerie silence on that perfect mid-September day.
Finally evening came (as evenings will); we went to bed and wished the nightmare over.
But when morning came (as mornings will), the dawn revealed the lingering horror.
When the autumn comes again, can I trust what I will see?
Golds and reds and skies of blue tainted by uncertainty;
Memories of that earlier fall when nothing seemed to match at all --
When grim despair betrayed that perfect mid-September day.