New York City, January 3, 2016

★★★★ The air through a briefly opened window was mild enough to serve as a call to go outdoors, which even the children were willing to entertain. The sun coming up the avenue was noticeably warm. In the cross-street shade, the wind whipped at the trash bag around a Christmas tree, but the playground was still washed with sunshine. As the children rode their scooters, the shadow of the apartment complex spread up the asphalt relentlessly and not slowly. When noses ran, there was a tissue in the adult’s coat pocket. What were not in a coat pocket were the four-year-old’s gloves, when he decided his hands were getting cold on the chains of the swings. He chose to keep clutching the metal barehanded. By the time he was cold enough to leave, the light had retreated all the way to the gate.