Another storm has moved in, much colder than the last. All afternoon, the day has darkened, gusts of wind have punctuated the gray stillness with flights of yellow leaves fluttering down onto the freshly cleared lawn. Thus far, only a few sprinkles have fallen -- small, icy needles of rain sufficient to give the pavements a dark sheen. Snow would be no surprise. The cat sits looking out at the trembling leaves. Not even the bird swooping over the lawn can tempt her to go out and chill her warm paws. I remain in the house, too, listening to the intermittent boom of wind in the chimney. It is an evening better seen than felt.