Each morning Zephyr wakes up and positions himself in front of the western window, where he sits perfectly still as the new day permeates the gray dawn.

“For one so young, you seem remarkably serene,” we noted as we passed by to announce that breakfast would be imminently served.

“It is true that I have lived for just slightly over a year,” he said, though he did not turn around to address us. “But I can only expect to last 10 to 12 more. In human terms, this would make me at least 80 or 90 years old; old enough, in other words, so that I must take beauty when and where it is offered, even in the form of a sunrise reflected in New Jersey’s most ill-conceived apartment towers.”