Looking down Chambers Street

A highly poetic account of a visit to the area that surrounds Groud Zero in New York. Clearly written some time ago, reading this kind of piece makes me think again of the horror that was 9/11. We are forgetting it slightly: the ebb and flow of daily life has pushed it out of life as a constant reminder, but the fact remains that at the time the feeling of shock was enormous and terrifying.
I was in an Art class on the Tuesday afternoon. The day was beautiful and hot, we were all in light shirts and happy from the late summer sun. At the time I lived a half hour walk from school during which I walked down tree-lined avenues, past sports pitches and along busy family filled roads. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary: I walked with a spring in my step and singing to myself as I went. Only when I stepped through the door of my house and came through to the living room where my sisters daily would sit watching tv, did I find that something was afoot. I was shocked and appalled that I had been so happy, so buoyant when an even so terrorizing had occurred. I feel this because I am a news person, I obsessively listen to news and consume news. Partly, I am sure, this has been influenced by a guilt feeling of being so happy when a catastrophic event was occurring, but it was present before.
I was gaily living, whilst others perished publicly and deliberately. Their loss is remembered and mourned.