The park by the river was spectacular this morning.

Tiny hailstones flew out of a depthless sky, bouncing wildly off everything, making a non-stop loud hiss as they hit the water. A half-inch of snow glowed on the paths and bare tree branches made a red-tinged tracery. In the water, for some complicated reason having to do with tides and wind, swells charged diagonally into the seawall, not parallel to it; this meant that, going out, they hit the incoming ones at right angles. So instead of canceling each other as usual, they made a violent weave of opaque green water. Ten Brant geese, a male and two female mallards, and a pair of gadwalls lifted and fell on these swells, trying for the moss in the wall. Cawing seagulls, who don't like the geese much (though they seem not to mind the ducks) swooped and charged in and out of the mist. Ferries appeared and vanished, and the buildings across the river were just vague dark shapes in the fog.