New York City, March 14, 2016

★ The part of daylight put aside for saving was the color of a bruise. Out in the dark morning, it was either starting to rain or finishing. A parent and child disembarked from an Escalade outside the school with an elaborate poster project wrapped in plastic. The four-year-old thrust his hands in his pockets against the chill, making him move along that much more slowly. The rain no longer was ambiguous: It was building to a gutter-filling downpour. As it blew by the windows, something in it looked like snowflakes or peach petals. Outside again they proved to be raindrops fat enough to flash white, confirmed when one splatted on the thumb. A wind-vented umbrella flipped inside out regardless. The apartment building made its hollow moaning. Near six o’clock seemed brighter than any of the rest of the day had been.