★★★ The clouds and the clock shift made it a labor even to begin the day. The effort was rewarded with the sight of snow roiling everywhere, fine flakes surging over the landscape. Then, like changing the channel, it was gone, back to the uneventful and slowly fading gray. Out on the Broadway median, in the strengthening light, a worker with a blower blasted clouds of dust and old leaves out of the crevice behind the benches. The sun took over. Cirrus, in fluffy fibers like the pile of a sheepskin rug, spread out. Some scarves and hats were still on, against the last traces of the chill. The late daylight was a puff of golden powder over the buildings; the moon was crisp white in the still-bright sky.