The Black Outside

I was looking out of the window. It was pitch black outside, the bare branches silvery in the light from the window, swaying in the wind and brushing the glass. A cold, unpleasant sight, like death breaching the warmness of the room. Inside the fire blazed, comforting like life after death, and elsewhere in the house people moving, arguing, joking, like life itself, a phase between life and death.