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The story in the paper said the firemen had tried everything to get rid of the rats, and finally gave up. The firemen moved to another firehouse. This contributes to my feeling of dread: Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer ...
A week after September 11th, they finally reopened lower Manhattan so people could get to work. But the odor of the corpses buried in the rubble lingered over everything. I was on a subway train when the doors opened at Fulton Street, a block from the Trade Center. People covered their faces with handkerchiefs. Next day I took a different train.
The darkness drops again ...
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