New York City, May 8, 2013

★★★ The beginning was straightforwardly undesirable: darkness, rain streaking the windows, thunder, tears over whether it was necessary to wear the raincoat to school. Then came a treacherous pause. Rain stopped, the sky brightened. From the upstairs bank office, the trees and planting beds of Verdi Square joined in a contiguous lushness not so apparent at ground level. On the way out, a few apparently leftover drops were falling. By Columbus Circle on the subway, a new arrival on the platform had water glistening heavily on her raincoat collar. Downtown, umbrellas were up, but it wasn’t necessary. There was barely enough rain to justify a hood. Then in moments the hood was necessary, and in another moment the hood was being drummed on and the sidewalks were splashing and it was time to sprint for a bodega umbrella. People hung back in the doorway, as bubbles flowed along the gutters and water sluiced down the side of a white delivery truck. And then, toward day’s end, there was light like clear syrup and clouds as white as new stationery, with fresh air blowing. It could have served as an apology, if the sleeves of the jacket hadn’t still been damp. That was no reason not to open a window, nor to open the door and get everyone out into it.