New York City, March 28, 2016

★★★★ The slosh of rainy traffic was, if not louder, more persuasive than the wake-up alarm, through many groggy snooze cycles. The elevator rug was spotted with drops, but the rain had had abated enough to permit a detour to the coffee shop and almost all the way back before any water got through the eyelet in the instep of a sneaker. A white fog had been up high on the buildings, and now it settled lower even as the showers stopped. The daffodils that were open stared at the ground or had toppled entirely. Around a manhole cover, pigeons pecked seed strewn amid cigarette butts. The white lifted and the gray darkened — then broke and fled, leaving scraps of cloud flying east fast in full sunlight. After that came majestic cumulus, in silvery grays and burnished whites, looking stolid but still moving swiftly. Wind tossed hair and the petals of cut flowers at the top of the subway steps. New blossoms bobbed on the trees. The wind knocked over wooden chairs on the next building’s roof deck and set their seat cushions to flapping. Trash cans rolled around. Luminous patches of purple and gold formed in the darkening clouds. One set of chair cushions tore loose and went flying up and off the high-rise roof, flipping and plunging some 18 stories along the face of the building before coming to rest on the ledge between the second and third floors. The clouds were suddenly cobalt blue. The wind wailed under the door and slammed against the windows, its noise unabating all the way into the night.