TRACES OF SALT lay smeared and flattened down the middle of the avenue, as a new flurry began to fall. The flakes came down slowly, each one wavering onto its own trajectory. As long as they kept falling, the poorly lit morning stayed picturesque. When the snow stopped, though, the day lost its bluish tinge and became plain gray. Breath steamed in the air outside. A squirrel scrabbled up a plywood construction fence and ran along the top. There were still green leaves on some of the trees. Despite the damp and the dimness, it was not as raw as the day before had been; the cold could be endured indefinitely, for as long as an errand might take. A large hot coffee cooled off to merely warm by the time it got home to be divided into two mugs. Another, briefer flurry came and went in the afternoon. By the last hour of daylight, the sky was clear blue.
