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It’s night. Across the Hudson River, the New York skyline at its most romantic: sprinkled in its wide white way with office and apartment lights; wispy night clouds add their movement, setting off this jewelled velvet; in the mid-ground, a fire-launch throws a high and spotlit fountain to assert that manmade beauty’s not forgotten, and citizens may share this high-rise paradise.. The French, who have a knack for the poetic phrase, might pin down in words this strange emotion of a city seen at night – something like ‘nostalgie de l’inconnu’ – a nostalgia for the unknown… paradoxical sweet yearning in a thousand lighted windows behind which humans like ourselves whom we will never meet share our lives; in this still night scene (the distant sounds but faintly heard, though not on our saved screens) elevated to the holy mystery of life; the soundless magic of a nightclub saxophone and wistful clarinet; a rhapsody in moods of blue.