New York City, March 13, 2016

★★★ The confusing sky at some uncertain hour of the early morning looked gray more than blue, yet it seemed to have a white contrail on it. A man and boy played catch in the forecourt as the four-year-old and the eight-year-old scootered around them. A stumpy, bat-eared dog strained at its lead to try to run with the younger boy as he rolled by. In the afternoon, the heater, sitting dormant for who knows how long in obedience to its thermostat, kicked on once more. The four-year-old turned away from the door on the way back from his brother’s piano lesson, simply to go running some more around the plaza. The sky had gone ashen; it was still not not-nice out, but it had stopped looking nice.