snow.

and sorrow.

It snowed in New York City on Sunday morning and our children are now at an age where we can send them, dressed in a rag-tag combination of effective and perfectly useless hand-me-down snow gear, to frolic at a nearby park. We did this trusting that they’d return soon enough, their cheeks red from the cold and errant snowballs, their hair matted under their hats, at least one of them likely to be howling from could-be frostbite or sibling misdeed.