New York City, September 7, 2014

★★★★ The sky was a heartening blue, with a little dingy blue haze lower down. A cool breeze pushed into the apartment lobby, but the sun out on the avenues turned out to be hottish. In the Park, on the Sheep Meadow, the sawtooth oak sheltered its recurring rain puddle, but the turf was nearly dry. Amid the conflicting agendas, the two-year-old’s desire to go to the tots’ playground turned out to be the wisest, microclimate-wise. Sprinkler posts made a puddle and sent water trickling down the entrance path. The two-year-old climbed up the shiny tube slide, with reflected light filling his face. He knocked his head on the top a couple of times as he emerged. By afternoon, at the schoolyard playground, the sun was harmless. Children scrambled everywhere, white noise and Brownian motion, and attentive parents scrambled after them. The swings were full, with would-be riders waiting by the fence while a soft-faced brat bullied his obnoxious grandparents into giving him one last swinging session four or five times over. Uptown, after dinner, widely spaced cirrus clouds were pink on the still-blue sky. The light faded, and the two-year-old stepped deliberately, making his new light-up shoes glimmer white with every stride. Then he was off and running, feet flickering and kicking high, as he chased his brother down the sidewalk through the dusk.