New York City, November 21, 2016

★★★ The second fugitive snowflake was a bit of leaf or litter scrap, blowing ahead of a cloud of the same. The third was a fleck of down from someone’s cold-weather gear. The first one, though, still resisted disproof. Glimpses of blue or of the glare of the sun marked the weak points in the clouds. The winter coats, furry-ruffed, were out. People standing on the subway underestimated how much room their new bulk took up. By early afternoon, what was flying around was certainly snow, though hardly any.