The ground is still black but less sodden. The round pebble stones that once carried the rail tracks are beginning to shine through here and there. The air is in motion, bringing in sound and freshness. The tree tops sing with the wind gusts. The wind is louder here than you hear it anywhere else in the city, frightening and powerful. The overwhelming notion of an invisible force that touches everything. The abstract and calm, undiscriminating gods of moving air.