Through the lens of my upstairs back window is a picture of Winter, staring back at me like an old tintype photograph of washed out objects reduced to blacks, whites, and grays, frigid and still. I complain about winter like everyone else, in part so I feel normal, with normal-person grievances like extreme cold and icy roads.
My first glimpse in three years of Manhattan’s transformed skyline happened about a week and half before the 9/11 anniversary.
I was traveling to New York City from DC, motoring along the New Jersey Turnpike in an express bus where I had a window seat. I noticed Midtown first, but as I scanned south I saw a gleaming new behemoth that dwarfed the Empire State Building. It was One World Trade Center.