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Aberdeen, Maryland to Baltimore to Aberdeen, April 13, 2014

★★★★ The morning air was damp and smelled of the Chesapeake, a minimum of five miles away. Diffuse sun cast soft-edged shadows. The daffodils were up, and the hyacinths, and the forsythia was starting to blossom. A goldfinch was in full yellow now. Out on the highway was chalky brightness; the tunnel and then the Arena garage were befuddlingly dim by contrast. At eddies and crosscurrents to the orange southerly flow of pedestrians, there were cheerleaders in light-catching spangles and oversized hair bows, heading for the convention center. Meanwhile in with the orange were the fluorescent green-yellow sashes of the safety patrol, for Safety Patrol Day. The ramp to the upper deck looked out behind the ballpark to streets studded with pear trees in bloom. Up high, the heat and haze made for a gentle watercolor approximation of summerishness. The sun was still low enough for the short roof to cast shade down across the entire section. Even so, careless white people gradually acquired sharp shades of pink. While the sweaty two-year-old burned excess energy on the open concourse, the light almost washed out the television screens. It was, unfortunately, not quite impossible to make out the images of the road team circling the bases. A gust of breeze threatened to scatter the empty hot dog trays and napkins before they could be disposed of, but the line to the trash can was cut off by someone hurrying perpendicularly with melting ice cream cones. The steel kiddie thermos had gotten hot to the touch when it was retrieved from the checkpoint for dangerous contraband, yet the contents were still cool. Rims on a Corvette flashed so severely as to make its silver body look dull gray. Seated bodies were clinging to the top edge of Federal Hill, along with the cannons, while the wind stretched the 15 stripes above them toward the harbor. Over the clogged highway north, a pale red-tailed hawk fought the air currents to a brief standstill.

New York City to Philadelphia to New York City, April 10, 2014

★★★★★ Sun came in high through the leafless street trees and went glancing everywhere. The waters of the New Jersey wetlands were lightly ruffled. Someone's large-screen portable device caught the light and sent a retina-hurting beam across the train car. The phragmites and the trees and the gravel of the rail bed were all brown. A few miles later, dustings of pale green began flashing by, and  trees were tipped with red. Somewhere before Princeton, the lawns were green. Deer grazed on a field fuzzed green with new growth. The green smudges became patches; the patches became swaths. On the way into 30th Street Station, broken glass twinkled on the embankment. The cab driver let the road breeze battle with the Christian rock radio till highway speeds made it untenable. The college students had given themselves over to shorts. University-logo banners stretched and filled, conveying their intended unifying visual theme. The basement air conditioning was mortuary. There was day enough to absorb a missed train, and a delayed train after that one. Swarming shells of rowers darkened the river. The vernal gradient passed in reverse. A touch of haze kept the sky from being entirely flawless. Lower Manhattan showed in full color in the right-hand distance on the way through Newark. In town and uptown, outside Alice Tully Hall, a brass band flared, the white sousaphone fiberglass agleam. From the dinner table, the children exclaimed over the crossing contrails as they went from to silver to pink, then finally lost the light and vanished.

New York City, April 9, 2014

★★★★  Someone found it irresistible to start jackhammering in the earliest daylight. Downtown, a woman in a light dress and broad-brimmed hat posed for a photograph in the bicycle lane, after pausing for a cyclist to go by. The sun backlit the clouds into fierce whiteness–white puffy cumulus clouds and clustered white shreds, as if a whole cloud had exploded or been shot out of the sky. A brick-scattered glow filled the six o'clock streets, and the wind had a gently autumnal bite.

New York City, April 8, 2014

★★★★ Through the cool morning drizzle and mist, the shoe-repair shop was already showing an OPEN sign, ready to sell a replacement shoelace for the first-grader's earlier replacement shoelace, which had already exploded into parallel strands at one end. A thin film of water covered the concrete of the schoolyard, where a gravely misplaced earthworm slowly and intermittently twitched, first one end and then the other. The rain stopped; the partly built new scaffolding around the building kept its share of sidewalk damp well after the rest had dried out. The sun came through, and the clouds, now separated, formed a pixelated clouds-and-sky image in the north face of the glass apartment tower. The descending sun was joined by a second sun flaring white off a Trumpville building. Curving wisps of pink spread across the upper western sky. Far off and low down, the underside of a skinny purple cloud lit up in searing reds.

New York City, April 6, 2014

★★★ Falsely promising. The light sparkled on the waterslides atop the cruise ship docked downriver. Helicopters went up and down the airway above the Hudson, with the sun either showing off their color or showing off their somber featurelessness. The thin wool coat was simultaneously too warm and not warm enough, as heat bounced up off the sidewalk and a cold breeze blew. Motorcycles throbbed at a stoplight on Amsterdam, then roared away, only to have the hindmost one caught at the following light. Pedestrian traffic overtook it as it waited. The light changed and it rumbled ahead again, but no further than the next uncooperative green.

New York City, April 2, 2014

★★ Not at all bitter, but still devoid of the least bit of sweetness. A dark gray morning passed through a listlessly rainy midday into a bright, clear afternoon and evening, but none of it made a difference. Even in the stifling height of summer, when the trash-rot hangs on the sodden air, who will long for this endless unwarmth? The children came home from the Park, happy enough, scattering sand from their shoes, carrying sand somehow into the middle of the bedclothes in the furthest part of the apartment. The late light was soft and lovely, and so what?

New York City, March 31, 2014

★★★★ First thing, out the window, white flakes were falling on a sharp diagonal. Again, again, and still: snow. One spasm—one last spasm?—of horribleness. Then blue skies blew in, first with decorative white clouds and then pristine, innocent, as free of malice as a child is, when the child is not being malicious. The office roof deck was closed, but it was good enough to go out on the fire escape, coatless. On Lafayette Street, the late light caught choking, gritty clouds of dust raised by traffic on the torn-up roadway.

New York City, March 30, 2014

★ Fog lay over Amsterdam Avenue, up on the building tops and lowering to cover the whole roadway in the distance, but at least it wasn't raining. Outside was raw and indoors was humid and stifling, but at least it wasn't raining. Then it was drizzling, but at least it wasn't raining hard. At least it wasn't freezing. The narrow points of gratitude were adding up to resentment. Down on Herald Square, the wind was colder but no less drizzle-laden. Uptown again, there was more of the same. A rat walked unhurriedly along the not-even-dampened sidewalk, in broad if gray daylight, but to be fair, it was a very small rat.

New York City, March 26, 2014

★ The overstaying winter had switched again from cloudy and too cold to bright and too cold, as if that would make it appealing. Steam blew from the street chimney and people moved about in heavy coats under the high-angled sun, like a movie scene being staged out of season. Wind clawed at a man's lightweight dress trousers as he walked down Lafayette, his hands jammed so forcefully into his jacket pockets that the quilted fabric bunched up across the small of his back. The wind was numbing, shoving walkers around like a tired mime routine, made no less tired by being real.

New York City, March 24, 2014

★★★ Everything lay in brilliantly sharp focus, the colors clear and saturated. The brightness was no compensation for the biting cold—now plainly and a little ridiculously out of season—but on its own terms, it was a thrilling sight. A dog went skidding on the dry pavement, unwilling, as its leash-holder detoured to throw something in a trashcan. A woman wore a scarf as a babushka, with her mobile phone tied against her face so she could talk on it. The light gleamed on the chrome of the production trailers using up all the space where the moving van was supposed to go. At dinnertime, the toddler pointed up to the Mormons' angel where it stood in the lowering sunlight, going from flaring gold to copper to bronze. The toddler expected water should come from its trumpet.