Morning Reflections

Smiling at the delicate sunrise, I soak in the peaceful morning scene, reminiscing about a past morning when the world changed on September 11.

The sun is about to rise. I smile with pleasure as I observe its delicate orange hue slowly rise into the morning sky. It is softly raining. The breeze makes the curtains gently sway, as if in harmony with the music coming out of the radio. My Picasso and Ebony are sleeping peacefully, she on the bed and Picasso at the foot of it. I am sitting on my armchair. I gaze out of the window once more. The skies darkened once more. The sound of the rain is more strident. For a glorious moment I observed the rising sun, but it disappeared into dark grey clouds.

My mind travels in time to another morning many years ago. It was a chilly morning. I wore my dressing gown as I prepared our morning coffee. Peter was at his desk in the basement. He was to meet a client in the city later that morning.

I heard him urgently calling me. “Stella! Stella! Come down!” His voice sounded tense. I pushed down the lever on the coffee press. I arranged my tray. “Coming!’ I called back, as I gingerly went down the stairs.

That day was the day that went down in history as September 11.