New York City, December 17, 2015

★★ The top of the ostentatiously tall building for billionaires was being clipped by either high fog or a low clod, depending on how one felt about ambition. The walk to preschool was dry, over sidewalks still damp at the joints and edges. Wet blurry halos spread around the leaves on the concrete. The grass in the Park, seen though the open taxi window, was deep green. Rain started and gradually intensified. The hood of the waterproof jacket settled low and protective, doing its job. The Italian place late at lunchtime was warm and full, all clatter and electric light, so even the wait for a takeout sandwich felt civilized. The rain fell harder. The new seat in the office looked right out over Fifth, and the drops were splashing the puddles there forcefully enough to be seen three stories up.