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Three women at a railing by the Tidal Basin, looking toward the Jefferson Memorial as smoke rises behind it — Three women stopped at the railing by the Tidal Basin, looking toward the Jefferson Memorial. Smoke was already climbing past it.

A woman with a camera watches a smoke plume rise across the water — Everyone on the path stopped walking at the same moment. Cameras came out instead.

A small crowd gathers at the railing, smoke visible over the trees across the water — The crowd along the water kept growing. No one there knew more than the smoke was telling them.

Five people lined up at the railing near the Jefferson Memorial — Phones were already useless in most of the city. The ones that still worked got passed hand to hand.

A man in a red convention cap walks near the Capitol grounds, smoke visible above the rooftops behind him — Near the Capitol, a veterans’ convention kept moving through its own schedule, half a mile from the smoke.

A red rowhouse on a quiet residential Washington street — A few blocks off, a street of rowhouses looked like any other September morning.

A bank sign spelling out SEP 11 above a 24 Hour Banking display — The bank’s sign did the date in light bulbs, the same way it would any other day.

A crowd gathers on a Capitol Hill street corner, some people on cell phones — Capitol Hill emptied onto the sidewalks. People stood in loose circles, waiting to be told something.

A stream of people walking away from the Capitol building along a tree-lined sidewalk — Then everyone started walking, all in the same direction, away from the Capitol.

A crowd of staff, tourists, and visitors moving past a Capitol office building — Congressional staff, tourists, a kid with a backpack — the crowd didn’t sort itself by who belonged there.

People walking past a Lane Ends Merge Left sign near the Capitol — A sign warned drivers the lane was ending. Nobody was driving.

A police officer standing alone in the middle of an intersection near the Capitol — One officer held the middle of New Jersey Avenue by himself, waving through what little traffic was left.

Two men in suits and a uniformed officer standing on a sidewalk near the Capitol, a flag flying on the building behind them — The flag over the building behind them hadn’t come down to half-staff yet. That would happen later.

Police officers crossing an intersection near the Capitol grounds as pedestrians hurry past — More police arrived than I had ever seen in one place, still working out where to stand.

A jogger runs past a long line of people walking away from the Capitol along the sidewalk — Someone kept their morning run going, straight through the middle of it.

A crowd gathers at a corner across from a large government building, an American flag flying above — Outside one more federal building, people were out on the corner, just going about their morning.

Two men in suits cross a street in front of a sightseeing bus and a police motorcycle — A sightseeing bus was still running its route. Two men in suits jogged across the street in front of it anyway.

Pedestrians crossing the same intersection a few minutes later, the sightseeing bus gone — A few minutes later, the same corner. More people through it. The bus already gone.

A breaking news email from CNN came in minutes after the first plane hit. I knew in my gut what it was before anyone said the word. I called a friend in New York, and we were still on the phone when the second plane hit. That’s when I got on my bike.

No one should forget a day like that, and someone had to go out and take the pictures. That’s how I felt riding down to the water, camera in hand, while the sky over the Potomac started doing something it shouldn’t.

I lived in Capitol Hill then, close enough that a helicopter out of the Marine Barracks came in low over my house, ordnance visible underneath it. Then the streets emptied onto the sidewalks. Congressional staff, tourists, a veterans’ convention that kept moving through its own schedule — the crowd didn’t sort itself by who belonged there.