Ascending the gentle slope of the hill, I exit the darkness of the alleyway. Street light wrought to look like gas lamps illuminate the church square in deep yellows and orange, supported by spotlights set into the ground that cast their glow upon the arches of the stained glass windows above, the trees lining the building, and the dark statue of a man set in front of it.
Stepping away from the old city hall to my right, I notice the silence. Gazing up the steeple the lit-up clock face tells me it is almost two. Higher up still, stars sparkle. Turning my head I discover it is not a clear night after all: the moon is shrouded in clouds. A silver blur in the sky.
No wind blows as I cross the street, approaching the church. No sound can be heard but that of my own footsteps. My breath fogs in the crisp winter air and I hasten my step. Past the great doors I go, round the building, abandoned benches to my left. Quiet voices can be heard in the distance, I am not the only one outside.
Turning right, I veer away from the church again. Crossing the same street once more, I head down a different alleyway. A modern street light illuminates a tree bereft of leaves at the bottom of the hill. I remember it green, basking in the golden light of the summer sun, now it looks cold.
Descending the hill I head home, the day has been long enough.