The street was empty, the sun bounced its hard light on empty pavements and sparkling windows.

A noise in the distance resolved itself into music. A band. The music became clearer, recognisable, louder, ebullient.

Doors opened, the houses poured their contents into the street, old people, young, man and woman, couples, ordinary, eager.

The band turned into the street, a panoply of red and fold, smart uniforms and shining brass. Banners furl and majorettes twirled. Along the street and round the corner. The spectators went back inside. The street was empty.

Andrew Paterson