New York City, August 28, 2012

★★★★ An autumnal sparkle, but with the intensity of summer. The pavement, wetted overnight, had baked dry by late morning. By the fifth or sixth block of walking, a black shirt was an occasion for mild perspiration and regret. Later in the day, wind blew over the rooftops; yet more wind blew up Mott Street. Sounds carried distinctly through the clear air: a sting of horns from the stereo in a slow-moving van, the rustle of a bag against the pan of a produce scale across the street, the cough of a silky little dog riding in a blue wire shopping cart. The light picked out faces in the crowd — deep-lined and mole-flecked, or ivory-smooth, or glazed with shine — like an attentive, generous portraitist. A taxi fender blazed.