A dark house with a bowl of candy on the lighted front porch. At a church party, as before. Their watchdog, in.

I run through the contrasts: I'm on my stoop, every light in the house glowing, two huge bowls of great chocolate candy on my lap. As before.

I sour at incomplete hospitality ... the in-your-face remembrance of Reformation Day ... the unwillingness to engage the culture.

Within hours, the candy runs out, theirs and mine.

I fill up again with bags from the cupboard.

Kids head to the empty bowl. One knocks a mum but immediately rights it.

They don't see me. I call to them. They don't hear me but move themselves on.