New York City, January 31, 2016

★★★★ Birds sang in the scaffold or shrubbery; tires pushed through the slush that still lay on the cross street. The outer playground was still blanketed with snow, but the concrete yard was clear. One pair of the four-year-old’s sneakers had been mislaid in the boots-and-shoes exchange days before, and now he was stomping in melt puddles with half of his one remaining pair as he scootered around. It was warm enough for him to ditch his parka and take to the swings in a tracksuit jacket, but not so warm that his hands weren’t chapped when he was done. People were sitting out on the luxury building’s roof deck in the sun, in their coats. Contrail after contrail after contrail traced the flight path across the west.