New York City, July 10, 2016

★★★★ The ripples sliding along the surface of the reflecting pool at Lincoln Center induced a little relative-motion vertigo. The rooftop artificial lawn had been chained off after the rain, for its own protection. The air was thick and soft, filled with the thrumming of machinery and a passing helicopter. The afternoon sky was a jumble of grays, broken and showing blue here and there. A silver shine fell on the river. The view looked cool and promising enough to stretch a hand out the window, where it met a few slow fat raindrops. The people gathered on the roof deck seemed unbothered, and eventually the four-year-old let himself be argued into going down to the forecourt. Now and again the sun came on stronger; now and again a breeze kicked up. After dinner, the chaos of the sky had settled into an a brightly mottled pattern, and the temperature was irresistible. The children took to the playground swings, the eight-year-old going steadily, the four-year-old demanding to be pushed as high and fast as he could go. A pigeon dropped from a tree like an accident. Even the subdued clouds were going away. A man on Broadway pointed a camera up at the light-soaked Beaux-Arts upper reaches of the Dorilton. As the children headed for home with frozen desserts in hand, a quick and fleeting burst of rain blew down out of the bright and nearly clear evening sky.