Someone walks towards me apparently smiling. Do I know her? Is she smiling at me? Or smiling to herself about something which she is remembering? Or is she smiling at someone coming up behind me? Or is she not smiling at all, her mouth pulled back, her eyes narrowed, instead, in reaction to the cold wind that snags at them? She turn into a side street. I shall never know.
I am sitting in my usual chair looking at the TV. The blind is as usual open to the night. There are lights from the upper floor of the house opposite, but nothing intrusive. In a matter, it seems, of seconds, I become aware of what seems to be a spotlight. I look up to the corner of the bay window and see, in the small area of sky between the roof of the house opposite and our window frame, that the moon has moved into place and is looking in on us with a cold stare.