The iridescence of yesterday has disappeared. Smaller swirling ice floes dancing, drifting around the 71st-75th Street bay as enigmatic and fascinating as crystalline paisleys finally warmed, surrendering to the authority of the massive body. Abandoning brilliance and notoriety, they have humbly subsumed into the collective, the common mass. Yet, elements of play have configured themselves for my amusement. My kitchen window today features a row of ancient pilings, snow encased smoothly rounded with perky peaks, looking for all the world like a parade of meringues displayed in a baker’s case.
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