"Oh my God!" "Oh my God!"

Something had startled me awake on a beautiful Tuesday morning, and the commotion outside didn't make sense. In the street, everyone was staring up towards the World Trade Center towers, and upon turning on the television I was shocked to see one of the towers erupting in smoke. I got Shea out of bed, we threw on clothes, and grabbed cameras.

The streets were packed with the people flooding out of their apartments and businesses. None could imagine that the horror was just beginning. Shea and I made it little more than a block before another fireball burned itself into our eyes, as the south tower was targeted by the second airplane.

We continued closer, passing thousands of stunned people, many streaming out of the damaged towers. A few blocks from the World Trade Center, we came across jet engine parts in the street and on the sidewalk...and could make out the flaming bodies falling from the burning buildings.

From Park Row and Broadway, we could see the towers down to plaza level through the trees of St. Paul's Chapel, for many years George Washington's place of worship. Already, so many rescue workers had arrived, and it was clear that there wasn't much we'd be able to do to help. We took a few more pictures, still wondering how the damage would be repaired and how much longer the fires could burn - and how many people would be killed.

"Move along - the building's unstable - keep it moving." We heeded the policeman's advice, and started to back away from the site, alongside City Hall. Just around the corner, we heard the most sickening sound imaginable. The crashing of floor upon floor, one upon the next, could have been the sound of all the buildings around, falling like dominoes, and we weren't sure we were going to survive. Police officers, building escapees, FBI agents, and bystanders, all running for their lives. Behind us, where we had just been standing, the avalanche of dust and debris tossed people to the ground, and that wall was chasing us, as if it was a special effect from a movie.

The Woolworth Building blocked the force of the dust, and we were soon enveloped in a light drizzle of dust, and couldn't see halfway down the block behind us, into the pitch black. It was an irritating cloud, but the realization that the tower could have fallen, and the thought of all the rescue workers that were below, was overwhelming.

Shea and I started our retreat, still not fully cognizant of the magnitude of what we had witnessed, but somehow aware that the death toll would be thousands. That was hammered home when we looked back to see the second tower fall. At a safe distance, we were able to imagine the people trapped inside, hoping for rescue, snuffed in a cloud of pulverized concrete.

The following hours and days were spend in a haze of smoke, ashes, and emotion. For days, our neighborhood was closed off to all but the residents and rescue personnel. There was no way to assist the rescue, and no way to escape the pain. Lighting candles at the park and leaving flowers for our lost local firemen has been the only way to grieve our loss. We were blessed that we didn't lose anyone close to us, although many other friends did. But the loss to the entire city will take years to leave behind, while the burned memories will never go away.

Pictures don't do justice to the magnitude of this event. They convey the images, but this has been about the emotion - the adeneline, the confusion, the shock, the fear, the grief. In showing these pictures to others, I am dismayed that they only offer a glimpse, as if you were supposed to imagine a great symphony from hearing the 20 best notes. Nonetheless, let us share what we saw.