The Twin Towers in July 1983, with New Yorkers taking in the sun on the beach created by the WTC landfill. Photo by Marilynn K. Yee/The New York Times
Sometimes I just can’t breathe if I think about it for too long.
Not only is it the towers, but in remembering the landscape when it was possible to walk on the landfill beach at the edge of the Hudson where it felt more like an end of the world place than a city. A landscape inspired by Fellini, in a New York that still had roughened edges with none of the cleanliness of our current patina of Disneyesque public spaces.
Still from Frederico Fellini’s 8-1/2
Yes. Life moves along. But for some of us the Twin Towers still informs out sense of who we are in a world that seems to have become that much meaner in the void of their absence.
I’m taking my daughter up to see her grandparents ahead of today’s snowstorm.
We’ve just passed our favorite part of the two-hour ride: seeing the ruins of a Bannerman’s Castle in the Hudson River just past Cold Spring. There are bits of ice and snow and low-flying birds cruising the waters. We both feel a sense of peace, seeing in the vista of the river a part of nature laying itself out for us as a special gift.
This is a train ride I’ve always loved taking; finding it less the portal to a destination than the chance to journey while taking in its special beauty. Would that all our travels were as serene.