New York City, December 17, 2014

★★★★ Puffy white-and-gray clouds were gathering in the west and moving eastward against a gentle blue sky. The sun shone up Broadway onto the taxis and the taxi-colored cases of the crosswalk signals. It was possible to remember that the steel drum playing “O Come, All Ye Faithful” was capable of signifying the tropics and not merely the subway platform. Overhead, downtown, the clouds bridged the rooftops; off above Lower Manhattan they were dense, with an intense glow seeping between them. Red roses and other spilled garbage lay crushed in the gutter. The breeze put a gentle chill on the jaw hinge and earlobes. There couldn’t be a whole day’s worth of this, and there wasn’t: the clouds closed over the afternoon, shutting the light off even earlier than early. The cold after dark had a pinch to it, leaving fingers and thumb tips feeling raw.