Just as yesterday, I'm awake before five listening to the surf of traffic pass along 58th street. I'm still waiting for my jet-lag to flush out of me and now I additionally have the weariness of a head cold to contend with.

Yesterday was a fiercely cold day in Manhattan; a slice and dice wind of the bitterest intensity streaming along the avenues and scissoring down the streets. Cold enough to freeze any exposed extremity to porcelain. But no snow, no rain, and the tiniest hint of a weak sun, still made it a great day.

New York has no ideal season - every season is the right season.