★★ The bright parts in the overcast sky went from fuzzy glowing spots to choppy-looking rifts. Far inland, on the horizon beside the apartment slab and over the river, ran a band of clear pale blue. But the rifts closed again and the clouds over Manhattan stayed dark. Leaves and garbage spun in a sweeping curve without rising high enough to menace the eyes. The pale blue stayed out of reach, a bright band framed at the far end of the cross streets, as the cold wind blew. This was the day the color disappeared from everyone’s wardrobes: black jackets, black sweaters, pants of no shade at all. The sun finally did appear, only to be lost again in the hastening evening shadows. High white wisps of cirrus were moving fast from south to north, while low pink shreds were moving north to south even faster.