In winter the lights that float through the car as I drive under street lamps is crisper, more defined, bluer. I make the turn on to the road home and the light in the car changes with the direction, silently raking across my arms, the wheel, the seat in back, and out across the rear fender. The last moments of that quiet ride interrupted as the sound of the crunch of snow comes into my conscious hearing. I have been lost in dreams–the early falling of night brings early dreaming it seems. The moon through the trees seems premature too, like the dreaming–a month ago the sun was still high in the sky at this time of day. It was a month ago, right? The lights dim as the engine is off and the stark shadows in the snow soften as the moon’s diffuser makes a bath of light instead of the stream from the headlights. It’s better, and the quiet is complete for a moment: end of the day.