★★★★★ The four-year-old walked out into the shade, in shorts and a t-shirt and sunglasses, and immediately began saying that he was cold. Unraveling clouds flew overhead fast. Daylight made it into the below-grade office of the nine-year-old’s writing camp and gleamed off the murals of bookcases, trompe l’0eil whether they were meant to be or not, till it seemed as if the room were full of smoke. By midday the sun was hot if encountered for prolonged stretches, but the shadows remained deep and cool. The once-dirty summer distance was clean all the way to where Sixth Avenue met the clouds. The light was bright, and even as it slipped away it left things luminous.