Wall lights are set at even intervals along a painted brick facade, and each one throws a fan of white light down the wall. Nearest the camera every brick is rough and sharp; further along, the pools of light line up and shrink toward the street.

The sidewalk beside it is empty. At the far end a few street lights and the leaves of a tree are out of focus, the only colour in the frame.

Most of the building is dark, but a handful of its windows are lit, a few warm and most a cool blue-white. Lattice screens stand in front of the glass, so the light comes out through a pattern of small openings instead of a plain rectangle.

The tower on the right carries the same lattice all the way up. Above the roofline the sky is still a deep blue rather than black, and a crescent moon sits in the middle of it, small enough to miss at first.

Mist fills the space around a tree, and a cool light somewhere behind the leaves breaks into rays that spread through it. The branches read as a black cut-out against the glow, and two smaller trees stand further off in the haze.

Set beside the rain on glass from the previous frame, it is the same arrangement turned around: there the water sits between the viewer and the lights; here the light comes through the water in the air.

Snow falls through a tangle of bare branches, and the flakes nearest the lens turn into soft white discs. Every branch carries a thin line of snow along its top edge.

Behind the trees one window glows red, with a few smaller warm windows to its right. Nothing else in the frame is lit.