It's beautiful here. After a rainy week so hot and steamy it was almost tropical, it's suddenly cool, sunny, and completely clear. Not a cloud in the gorgeously blue sky. The first yellow leaves are drifting across the sidewalks, but most trees are still full and leafy and the flowers are blooming in the parks. The air's full of the excitement of fall. People stand or stroll or hurry along, alone, together, talking to each other, talking on their cellphones. They walk dogs, take kids to school, go shopping, go to work.

I would have written exactly the same words three years ago. Except, in truth, three years ago I wouldn't have noticed all this going on. The normal life of New York would have been background, always there, scenery in front of which stuff to write about happened.

But today, because of the date and pointed up by the perfect weather, New York's normal life is very visible and highly-charged. I'm edgy, as are many people I know, and I'm sure many people I don't. Not afraid that something's going to happen. Not something external, anyway, another attack, that kind of thing. But tomorrow's going to be a hard day to get through for a lot of people, no easier for being three years later. I felt this same thing this day last year, a kind of nervous dread. I spent the last three years working on a book that, as a writer, was my way of dealing with that feeling, and all the other feelings. But today there's no "dealing," and tomorrow will be worse. And then it'll fade again for awhile, and I'll be able to go back to New York's normal life.