An Easter reflection

This Easter, with the theme of resurrection vivid in my mind from church, I’d like to share with everyone an essay I published in the St. Petersburg Times after visting Ground Zero — and more signifcantly, a nearby Irish pub — in New York on Easter weekend, 2002.

I have been to New York City four times. Each of the first three, I lay on the plaza between the World Trade Center towers and stared at the point in the sky where extensions of their strong vertical lines would converge on an artist’s canvas.

The last day of my fourth visit, my wife and I visited Ground Zero and found a huge five-story-deep chasm, roughly square.

We could see little from the sidewalk across Church Street, the southeastern edge of the pit. Dump trucks disappeared down a temporary ramp. Yet the scene suggested construction, not destruction: equipment, temporary office trailers, workers in orange vests and hard hats, several levels of healthy structural steel below grade at two corners of the pit.

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