The housing estate is quiet. A single upstairs window catches the sun and throws it across the cul‑de‑sac. An ordinary house suddenly wrapped in beams of light. A man in slippers pauses with his wheelie bin halfway to the kerb.

A woman walks her dog past the bus stop. She taps her phone and checks the time. For a moment she stands there, a priestess, grounding the morning without meaning to.

At the corner shop, the girl behind the counter is restocking scratchcards. She moves among bright shiny things. A boy tries to push in front of an old man and she stops him with a single look. No raised voice. Just a look.

Twilight comes early. The sky purples over the rooftops. The streetlights blink on one by one. Someone’s music thumps through a half‑open car door, bass shaking the air. The day settles itself.

evening bus
the driver’s face lit
by the ticket machine

Paul Conneally
January 1st 2026