Memories are made of this:
evocative feelings (sometimes created by unexpected events)
Well, they are supposed to be.
However, nine years after 9/11 I find myself safely, comfortably, happily dwelling on the golden plains of north central North America. From here it is impossible to recall the exploding urban environment of that date so long ago.
This land in which I currently reside has so few people that newspaper adds for job opportunities wait for months to be filled. This is the land that produces food for a nation, actually food for the planet. This is the land that produces enough oil from deep within the earth that drilling in the Gulf is unnecessary. This is the land where folks do carry guns in order to hunt for the meat that will feed the family for the winter - elk, moose, and deer wander among the stubble left behind after the harvest. This is the land where fresh beets and new potatoes just dug from the garden will sit upon our table this night.
Why have so many fled this fine land to live in the troubled and unemployed cities of our continent? Damned if I know. Devilish hard to figure out.