The first snow of the season in our Washington Heights garden, and naturally we are drawn to that most unnatural of colors: the electric slate blue of the atlas cedar (Cedrus atlantica). Suddenly — are you with us? — we are on a train in northern Italy, watching the countryside drift past; here, it seems that even the ugliest post-war architecture is redeemed by the presence of such imperial trees, which if given the chance will grace us all without any mark of class or religion.

Music: “Buried Ships” courtesy of Saturnine, Mid the Green Fields (VictoriaLandRecords 1998).