The sample of light filled the atmosphere and enveloped the Flemish village, slicing the white sky and dicing the ice into zones. There is history here among the skaters and hackey sackers. Each day is framed by new recruits tangled in the hedges. An old church pew is tufted with a marshmallow of wet snow. A child flings smaller children across the frozen surface, pivoting on a wooden leg, which has drilled a divot in the ice. With my pair of large red trousers I have extended my limited powers of observation to contrast the bright, freewheeling skaters with the muted colour of the sky, the greys, the browns, the dark confines of the bird trap.