New York City, February 21, 2016

★★★ The warmth and brightness, alive with the hope of spring, had weakened to ordinary non-coldness and a dull light-gray sky. It was acceptable for strolling the thirteen blocks back from the older boy’s haircut. The streets were neither empty nor alive with enjoyment. Airplanes moved below the cloud ceiling. By late day the clouds were strained and rumpled like bedclothes with someone sleeping fitfully in them. Parts were almost blue, or flushed with golden light. After dark, a shine appeared on the paving tiles of the roof deck across the street. A quietly pattering rain landed on a hand stuck out the window.