New York City, May 27, 2013

★★★★★ Superlative for any day, let alone a holiday. Shockingly close to perfection. Above the near-empty morning streets was a flawless, empty sky, so bright that a blue glow perfused the shade. The toddler toddled uptown, toward the schoolyard, pausing to study the demolition bins through the hole at the bottom of the construction fence. Adults with flip-flops and bulging totes were trekking toward the subway. Cool air circulated through the playground; leaves clipped the blue above and the sun below into fragmented patterns. It was almost possible to use the swings without impatient parents lurking to await their children’s turns. Some child had brought a bubble wand, and the toddler fell in with the shrieking pack pursuing the bubbles, which rode the breeze at ideal chasing speed. He played till his grip on the climbing ladders started to get sloppy, then submitted to a nap. A blimp cruised up the Hudson, en route to ballgame duty. In late afternoon, everyone left in the city was out on the sidewalks — in khaki shorts, in tuxedos with jackets off. The front cars of the 7 train showed through the window of a later car as it rode the curve of the elevated tracks, up into Queens. The train was so full of bodies that the kindergartener quit trying to see out and watched the dot moving on the smartphone map till it froze in the tunnel at Flushing. But on the return trip, after dinner, the view of the valley lay open: sheaves of wrecked cars, glistening mud flats, the pale course of the Van Wyck, the Unisphere. The lowering sun flared through high clouds and broke into colors. Gray streaks bent to the southwest and curled back again. The twilight in Manhattan was everything twilight could hope to be.