Trekhprudny Lane

A. woke up in the dead of night to hear EB screaming frantically: "The rain is hurting my face!" Her fever was 105.2F, the highest I've ever encountered. She slept with me until morning, and it was so completely fascinating to hear her delirium. "That bracelet is swimming" (pointing into the air), "Tata has his three pigtails on," "Please hand me the brushes," "That's not real snow!" etc. 

The girls have been sick so repeatedly, and so intensely, in recent months; is it detsky sad, poor habits of ours, or simply Moscow? 

One lovely part of the last few days, though, has been getting out onto the silent streets at dawn (to walk the dog). The city is very still, the light beautiful, the sweepers are out with their branch-brooms, and several times I've found ducks flying in twos or threes overhead, honking, whether local or migrating I don't know. In the back courtyard and the deserted playground, it's just the dog and I crunching over mounds of dirty snow, and the resident flock of pigeons rooting in our dumpsters, and magpies harassing each other on the ledges overhead.