It was all incomprehensible. It was another disaster spectacular with special effects beyond what we’d ever seen, a concept we hadn’t thought of, a twist of evil we hadn’t yet explored. Then they played it again and again.

It would not go away. It invaded our minds in the form of reality. It made our bodies shake, it injected our pores with fear, confusion and an urge to wail, cry and strike. Norwegian artist Edward Munch captured the perfect artistic expression of what so many of us felt in his sketch The Scream.

I adore Manhattan, and my husband sometimes tells people I am really a city girl. I would gladly give up the bees and the birds to live in New York City, but that makes it difficult to pursue a lifestyle that involves horses. One Tuesday morning, the city of my dreams got its heart torn out, and all we could do was watch in horror.

When the twin towers of the World Trade Center crumbled as the result of satanic planning, with the aid of the formidable weapon of box cutters, we all realized how vulnerable we are.

The first two days after the attack on America, we were glued to the TV and radio, basically useless in any capacity. By sheer luck, our family did not lose a relative or close friend, although we live a mere 45 minutes from midtown. Still, after the shock and denial, the fear set in. Like the 10 million people in Manhattan, we inhabitants of Long Island are trapped if the escape routes through tunnels and over bridges are cut off. While everything stood still in the city, we held our breath waiting for the other shoe to drop in form of bombs or biological weapons.

Thursday dawned, and we were still paralyzed. Our pre-attack schedule would have had us at the NEDA fall show in Massachusetts (see Oct. 5, p. 48) by Wednesday. New York City officials had turned away all offers of help, the message being that they did not need any unskilled people underfoot. The blood banks said to wait and schedule our blood donations in the future, so that the overflow did not spoil.

A car or truck was found under the George Washington Bridge full of explosives. I wanted to crawl into a corner and suck my thumb