There is place near my home where I like to go in the evenings. It is a parking area near a boat launch, overlooking a creek. It faces west and I usually have it to myself. On hot evenings I’ll pick up an iced cappuccino before heading over, on cool or cold ones, a regular hot coffee.

I mostly go there on clear nights because while I let my mind rid itself of the day’s debris, I watch the sky. Occasionally I’ll take one or both of my sons with me, and we’ve come to refer to it as “the UFO spot.” Our UFO sightings have been rare and subject to some debate. What is common however, along with the constellations, are the moving, blinking lights of planes taking off from Toronto’s Pearson airport, about 40 miles to the west.

The planes are still climbing when they pass overhead and some slowly bank south, heading for New York, Boston, Atlanta, Miami and beyond. Some pass straight overhead, heading east to Montreal, Ottawa, Halifax, London or Paris.

What I find myself doing as I watch them, is picturing the passengers inside and speculating about them: a woman with a constant small smile, on her way to meet her lover; a tired businessman reviewing facts and figures to prepare for an upcoming meeting; a sad middle-aged couple, going home for a funeral.

On busy nights I see a plane every minute or so, at times there are as many as 7 or 8 blinking red lights within view. Every plane has many passengers, every passenger has a story to tell.

I didn’t go to my UFO spot on Tuesday, September 11th; nor the next night, nor the next. Not only was I rooted in front of my television, like much of the world, trying to make sense of the senseless, but I knew the skies would be devoid of those blinking red lights.

On the Friday following the horror, I went. It was a cool night, so I bought a hot coffee on my way. Large areas of the night sky were clear. Occasional cloud clusters moved along briskly, hurried by winds un-felt by the earthbound.

My coffee was cold before I saw my first, and only, blinking red light of the evening. I watched it for a long time and my mind was curiously blank. It took me a while to realize that the horrific images that my brain had been force-fed over the previous days had sent my imagination into retreat.

It recoiled at speculating about more terror, more pain, more loss. It didn’t want to venture into the minds of those passengers and share their thoughts.

I’ll keep going out there. Gradually, more and more blinking lights will decorate the night sky. Gradually, fresh horror will fade to scars. Gradually, my passengers’ minds will return to the kind of everyday normalcy that will invite my imagination’s gentle probing.

It will take a long time, but I have faith it will happen. I need to believe it will happen.

This piece first appeared in 1st Person in October 2001.