It is still daylight, when I leave the house. But patches of frost have already begun to appear, where last night's had melted during the day. In the fast gathering twilight, by the time I am on my way home, the window of a car, covered in hard rime, is glistening in the lamplight. I pass my hand over the window's rough surface.
A packet of dried chestnuts has the mystifying warning: "May contain traces of peanuts".
Under the moon with a halo, a black bird sings for a moment forgetful of the cold and the season.