Snow coming down on Natick Common turns the bandstand into a lantern and lays a foot of hush over the whole downtown. Mr. Plow works the storm while it is still falling, pushing driveways, lots and walkways ahead of the drifts rather than after them. A long night has its own rhythm: run the route, come back around, take the next few inches before they set up hard. Salt down, a path to the door, a mailbox left unburied — the small courtesies that decide whether a morning is easy. When the trucks finally park, the streets are open and the town wakes as if nothing happened.