New York City, February 12, 2015

★★★★ A sky that seemed irreconcilably divided between a high clearing blue and a low-lying murky winter gray found, for a moment, a gray but glowing balance between them. The glow faded and huge, gorgeous snowflakes floated by, sparsely at first and then with a ridiculous polka-dotted density, streaming from south to north, splatting into slowly fading spots on the not-quite-freezing surface of the balcony next door. The three-year-old demanded that the window be opened so he could stick a hand out and grab hold of the excitement whirling by. Not long after that activity palled, the stormlet was over, and the brightness and even the blue returned. Everything was just a phase; by elementary-school pickup, a heavy shadow like a summer storm was moving in. Mist began to fall and turned into tiny, unattractive snowflakes. That squall passed, in turn, and the clouds began to split apart and stay apart. At dusk a rugged pale-blue pile of cumulus stood in the north against the darker sky, with shapeless sheets of lilac at its feet. A deepening chill carried on the breeze. In the night, all at once, the breeze became a wind, slamming into the building with a sound like heavy paper tearing. It was in the forecast, but still it was shocking to hear.