Chicago’s got weather, says the American Airlines check-in lady at New York’s La Guardia airport. Indeed it does: Chicago is being buffeted by icy winds and soaked in cold rain and suffocated by unremitting fog. We’re delayed then diverted to Cleveland then returned to New York and finally delivered the following day to the beautiful, imposing city that sits on the shores of Lake Michigan. Chicago has weather, but our delay has been a blessing in disguise, for today it is clement; cold still bites at our necks and hands but the sky is cerulean blue and the sun is shining abundantly on the city’s Frank Lloyd-Wright houses, on the soaring neo-gothic building that houses the Chicago Tribune; it sweeps golden along the Magnificent Mile and the miraculously backwards-flowing Chicago River, and illuminates Anish Kapoor’s iconic sculpture, Cloud Gate, so that our bodies are reflected in it with perfect, sun-lit precision. Would that Chicago could bask always beneath such happy skies.