Nine things on a November evening. The scrabble of fair-sized ants around footpath leaves and alongside fallen twigs. Basil leaves billow twice their size after weekend rains, pots of Italian fragrance. Doors ajar. Each colour in place where the cook fills the square inches of each salad plate. Outside or inside, the two cats find the cool. Red glow in the tall green eucalypts and at hillside windows near sunset. Car locked. Watering can rests with the tomato stakes after its daily chore. In the softly darkening house a woman reads favourites, between two lamps she will soon turn off.