We've had lots of rain lately in NYC, mostly of the gusty wind, splashy, soaking kind. But that was March. Today, without wind to shove it around, the rain's falling gently, fine threads that make elegant circles in puddles when they land. At the river a flock of Brant geese swooped, losing members right and left, who raced to catch up. Brants aren't really good at that V-formation thing. Large swells rolled across the water, which was gray and covered in a fine mist. But you could still see the far shore, and you couldn't miss the fact that the clocktower at the under-renovation ferry terminal is now wearing a silly hat. I wasn't down at the river yesterday, which is when they must have installed it because I'm telling you it wasn't there Wednesday. In their defense, it's probably historically accurate, the kind of frou-frou steeple the Victorians loved. To me, on the square-shouldered brick towers they usually cap, they just look dopey. This one, though, has open sides like a belltower. I wonder if this clock -- which moved from noon (or midnight) to 12:15 last week and now is stuck there -- will, when they get it going, chime the hours?