New York City, October 26, 2014

★★★ The wind outside sounded like cars whooshing by, heard from the shoulder of the highway. Enough clouds moved in through the morning that the soap bubbles being blown at the community block fair failed to shimmer. Pedestrians were ambushed by a yellow vortex of honeylocust leaves, swirling a full story high, making them flinch and buckle. Sun took over for the three-year-old’s naptime, then went away by the time he was awake for the block fair again. A five-piece jazz band played outside the bank, and a man in a checked cap danced quietly and extravagantly off to the side. Leftover balloons, black and orange, were being distributed to children and to the sky. “How come there’s a huge wind?” the three-year-old asked, as he made the turn onto 70th into gusts. A portable boiler room trailer hummed by the curb, feeding thick hoses into an apartment building. The boy insisted on shedding his jacket as soon as he entered the playground, while parents or guardians thrust their hands into their pockets. The darkness lay heavily at four in the afternoon; there were still occasional thin patches of blue, but small ones and always somewhere else. The sun got under the clouds downriver at last and sent a coppery glare to flood the southern faces of the buildings. Magenta ruffles spread across the sky. By shortly after six, it was all over.