New York City, April 23, 2015

★★ Gusts clamored against the building. The sun, when it showed, looked capable of being pleasant, but the clouds had persistence and numbers. Pigeons dropped on the air, wings stiff and upright, riding the wind across 68th Street and just under the top of the post office garage opening. By school pickup the sun had stopped trying, leaving dark sky and a cold wind slinging garbage in great sloppy curves and then, on the way back up from the river, even a grim sprinkle of rain. The maintenance staff had swapped out the winter insulation on the heating-and-cooling units, and chilly air forced its way up through the vent, as if the blower were on. The clouds allowed the daylight a few brief and lazy moments of glory before its final surrender.