Reflections 
At dawn on September 11th, the Josie Robertson Plaza at Lincoln Center was quiet and still. Only the fountain glistened in the subtle light of morning, and the tan and gray stone ground was cool to the touch. All of a sudden, at 8:15am, the stone began to heat up. The sun had risen, but the warmth was coming from somewhere else: A call was made from a pink conch shell whose sound expanded into the atmosphere and summoned a hurricane of white to encircle the plaza. Hundreds of bare feet dashed around and around the fountain, surrounding the space...
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