Looking at the dark outside the window, and listening to the sound that might be that of a road, but is really the wind travelling down the river valley. Houses become islands of light at times like these.
My son and his friends, freed for the weekend, stop by briefly on their travels. Doors open and slam. Almost time for quiet and the wind again.
Just one light on the opposite hill. When the trees leaf out, I won’t even have that.
white pebble 