New York City, May 1, 2017

★★★ The low, foggy ceiling over the morning lifted slowly and lightened even more slowly. Sometime after lunch the light began to qualify as sunshine. Little clouds floated above the taxi’s skylight, and the one open porthole window was brilliant in the dim interior. The walking was fine on the return trip. The five-year-old wielded the tongue depressors the doctor had given him as twin swords, pale wood flashing. Just when the sun began to seem too warm, a cool breeze came up, then strengthened and cooled still more. After dinner the five-year-old went downstairs and ran himself sweaty. Seconds after he stopped and announced it was time to slow down, he turned and tripped and fell, bare knee and bare elbow hitting the pavement. He sat, tearfully but not too tearfully, on the low wall by the driveway while tissues, dug out of a grownup’s jacket pocket, stanched the blood. Dusk deepened and lamps shone in the apartments across the avenue. It was only the suggestion of going inside, taking an early shower, and calling it a night that brought the tears back.