We woke up to a morning of plush white. I popped the hatch on our landing and climbed up to where the wind whistled through a snowfield, formerly the summer farm.
The roofs, formerly a messy collection of patched tar and silvertop are now a unified and extravagant white. Stunning.
I looked across the street and noticed the hatch was open on our neighbour's roof, below, from which I took a picture of our terrace at the beginning of winter. We had said that I might come over to take some snow pictures today, but when I emailed him to ask if they'd be around, the email in response, with picture, explained that they had had a fire in their apartment early this morning. We had no idea. Heard nothing.
They have just renovated their apartment, and an old beam beneath the floor caught alight. The floor has been ripped up and now there is hole between them and their downstairs neighbours. So not everyone one is having a good snow day. Uncannily, the same thing happened to friends of ours years ago, in the East Village, also in an old, but newly renovated building. It is heart breaking.
So, appearances can be deceiving. I thought the popped hatch signaled come on over. Instead, it said, Fire.
Keep your smoke alarms primed.
And now we will explore our snowy world...