New York City, September 19, 2012

★★★★★ Engaging to the eye, and gently bracing to the body. The high sky was a canvas for contrails and cirrus and streaks that might have been either one. One twin stroke, definitely left by jet engines, widened and narrowed in regular rhythm, as if the winds at altitude had twisted it into a double helix. The pockets of the jacket held papers unseen since springtime — REGISTER NOW FOR SUMMER 2012 — and a few nails pulled from the wall of the last apartment. Water puddled still at the landing of the subway stairs. The air was cool enough to sting, just a little, on its way to the lungs.