New York City, December 11, 2016

★★★★ The flat pale blue of the sky and the river became a flat pale gray, gently and inexorably. The wind was light enough to permit errands with no suffering, even as the gray became heavier. Airplanes flew along under the ceiling. The promise of the chance of snow kept being pushed back, but after dark the older boy came back from his piano lesson with the news that the snow had come. The younger one put on his shoes and went down to investigate. Little flakes, the size of glitter, were blowing through the lights. A man with a child reported that the snow was sticking to the cars, if anyone wanted to scoop some off. It was sticking to the plantings, too, and the five-year-old found it on the railings as well, swiping it off them, one by one, till his bare hands were so cold he needed to go back upstairs.