New York City, February 24, 2015

★★★ Plumes flew like proud white pennants from each apartment tower, against the clear sky. Even the dirtier ice had a pleasant hard-frozen sheen to it. Condensation streamed down the inside of a cleaners’ window; a patch of frost clung to the face of the curb where steam was trickling up from a grate. Oblong depressions marked where tires had sat in the slush as it froze solid again. Yet though the deep cold reigned, it was a reign without terror. One could defy it by skipping long underwear or going briefly without gloves, or by taking the long way to work to pick up a cup of tea on Grand Street. The sun was bright enough to dissolve the worst of the black ice at midday, and to leave a startling pink spray of speckles behind when it sank out of sight behind the buildings.