Window 4

The November moon through a narrow window looking out on the back garden, the moonlight shining through the branches of the tenuous silver birch, its trunk is eroded at the base. I am alone in the house, for reasons beyond my control. This morning there was snow on the ground. I woke from an uneasy dream, all scraping skimpy carrots, in a place aligned with classical corridors as in a museum; then the disappearance of a way back to where I had been, all traces covered and possessions gone, and a strange smattering of tourists to whom I was invisible, come to traipse through the corridors. What happened to the carrots, and the overseeing cooks who criticised my efforts? Anyway, this is a moon that I came across quite by chance when drawing the curtains. And then in the morning a shawl of rainbow cloud in the cold sky.

Window3