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The coming of rain to New York NEW YORK, Sept. 14 (UPI) -- The last thing I heard before
I finally drifted off to sleep Thursday night was the sound of thunder
on the horizon. That sound -- it didn't mean the same thing to those elsewhere
in the country as it did to the people here in New York. That sound -- it meant the coming of rain. Rain and wind and storm that will perhaps flush away forever
the towers of smoke, those dun ghosts of silver spires, looming acrid
and hateful and vengeful since that terrible, fateful Tuesday. Rain and wind and storm that will perhaps blow away our
last hopes of rescuing any souls that may lie in the darkness, in the
maw of what was already viciously dangerous shifting debris. Rain. Rain, perhaps, against all hope and possibility, to bring
water in tiny rivulets to those who lie dying for it far beneath us --
or to drown their chances once and for all. Rain. The thunder brought rain, and the rain has brought with it a new day -- not of the blue skies that have prevailed since that terrible day, but perhaps at last, on this day of mourning across the nation, of gray. |