New York City, September 30, 2012

★★ Alluring but not to be trusted. A blue morning with tiny specks of cloud drew unwary pedestrians out in shirtsleeves, into a darkening and gusty afternoon. When the gusts began to carry spitting raindrops with them, the betrayal was too much for the five-year-old to bear. The force of reason — how could one get out of it without walking on through it? — was of no use, but a Nestle Crunch from a newsstand was. At errands’ end, things were clear again. Giant soap bubbles whipped by the back windows of the lobby, from a bubble gun wielded by a toddler, bundled up in a white furry jacket with a pink satin hood. After sundown, it was time for mooncakes, but before there could be mooncakes it seemed worth a try to see the harvest moon. The proper part of the eastern sky was blocked by towers; the cross streets and the angle of Broadway failed to yield a suitable gap. So eastward, toward the Park, under a thick, shadowy canopy of leaves. Unzipped jackets were fine. Intermittently, the gold of street lamps and of a high window gleamed deceptively through the foliage, glimpses of false beacons. Then the Park itself, more trees and a promontory standing up black and impenetrable. The path skirted the darkness, curving around, till — there! Almost. Framed in the pathway along the Sheep Meadow was a glowing patch of rumpled clouds, the last lingering clouds of the day. Slowly the disc resolved itself, round and proper, not orange but a pure shining bone-white.