Icarus famously flew too close to the Grecian sun; his homemade, waxen wings melted and he plunged to his death in what W. H. Auden, describing Bruegel the Elder's painting of the event, called the "green water."
Had Icarus lived in contemporary Boston rather than ancient Crete, then the heat of the sun would not have proved so deadly. There is no sun here at the moment, only white skies, voluminous clouds and persistent hints of impending snowfall. Nor is there green water for our intrepid if somewhat hubristic flier to fall into, since Boston Harbor is more a sort of mucky brown color. Daedalus, in duck boots and Bruins cap, need not have cautioned his son to avoid achieving any great altitude.
A New England Icarus, however, would freeze to death in mid-air; his body hit the sea with a dull plop instead of a poetic splash. It's difficult to imagine any old master finding inspiration in such a bleak, earth-toned scene; Auden, neither; although William Carlos Williams still might give it a shot.