A week after WTC, I visited the living memorial at Seattle Center's International Fountain before heading in to work. The early morning air was quiet and cool; it was obvious that Autumn has found its way back to my corner of the world again. I'd cut some of the last vividly crimson dahlias from my courtyard garden to leave there, hoping to exchange them for a few seeds of closure and peace of mind instead.

As I walked around the fountain, with only a few others around me doing the same, I read the various notes and prayers that had been left by those visiting before me. The weight of the grief was extraordinary; the air itself was heavy and inert. I was aware of an unheard and unconscious keening, of whispered words unsaid, of so many lives interrupted. I have become accustomed to sensing things in this manner; I know there is a fragment of my soul that will always tie me to my Romani roots and have made peace with what it brings into my life. The thing that got me crying, however, was far more simple and direct. A child's first drawing (the original -- not a copy), left by her parents to honor those who would never live to see their own childrens' first artistic expression -- it left its mark on me.

Despite a chaotic schedule during the past few weeks, a part of me has been aware of and has paid attention to certain transformations in the people around me. I've seen friends make changes in their lives, quietly, but with confidence. I've noticed people growing bolder about the things that matter to them. I've watched as people have been gentler and more open with one another. I've listened as people have questioned their priorities. I have been astonished by these acts; it's as if we're no longer willing to accept what we'd previously settled for. And I'm grateful because it gave me the space to address a few hard truths in my own life, to shuffle the cards again and uncover the places where I've allowed parts of myself or my life to become stagnant.

I am amazed by the metamorphosis I've witnessed. In a city on the other side of the country where only a few weeks ago it you'd be regarded as suspect if you smiled at someone on the street, we're actually talking to strangers again.

My experience at the International Fountain was powerful, and it has allowed me to move on in my life. The changes I've been noticing, however, are a far more eloquent "living memorial" for me. I don't pray often, but I have started asking my gods to allow this phenomenon to continue indefinitely.