New York City, April 23, 2017

★★★★★ The five-year-old pointed out the sparkling things in the pavement underfoot. The sky was clear and the breeze was clean, so straightforward it was hard to understand why so many days had gone by clotted and complicated with other conditions. The five-year-old had already been out earlier, pulling on his socks while his parents were still pajamaed or standing over a frying pan. Every individual in the Park was sharply drawn and richly colored. Softball teams were out on the fields, in full or partial uniform, mixed and matched around the same infield. Cameras were pointed at the tree cascading with pink blossoms at the edge of the Sheep Meadow. People not the least bit outfitted for sunbathing had laid themselves flat on the turf, long pants and all. The undulation of a cloud briefly matched the undulating line of the thickening treetops. A carriage horse turned its head and made eye contact out beyond the normal range of its blinders. The line outside the bakery was absurd but it was an excuse to stand out on the sidewalk. Some clouds diffused the sun for a while in the afternoon, a reminder of how far from easy it was. Possibly even a raindrop fell. But the light came back; people hollered watching sports on their building’s roof deck television. What remained of the clouds showed glimmers and hints of color and glory, then flared to pink, intensifying to a brilliant orange with an oculus of pale blue in it.