New York City, January 13, 2016

★★★ A sleek trashcan lay on its side on the roofdeck of the luxury apartment building, and a long strip of fabric, caught on the fence there, lifted one end and waved and settled down again. Steam from the vent pipes was yanked sideways and down. One fingertip had dried out and cracked, and in the act of helping the younger boy out of his puffy coat, a spark of static electricity jumped directly into the split in the skin: Nearly four and a half decades alive, and here was a new and surprising variety of pain. Out by the high school the gusts were stinging. “It’s wind and sun at the same time!” the boy said. At the excavation site by 62nd Street, where a flatbed truck held one gargantuan length of pipe, the wind suddenly lifted a large sheet of dust — too large to duck or dodge — and flung it over the sidewalk opposite, stinging the eyes and grinding in the teeth. On the return trip for preschool pickup, with the sun a few hours lower and westward, the flattened and blackened gum spots outside the corner deli shone like coins. The spilled parts of a newly crushed rat in the street were bright and varied shades of red. On the subway, a stranger coughed straight onto the hand holding the phone. The dark portion of the crescent moon had its own visible shape and shade, distinct from the rest of the night sky.