Under cover of darkness, I go out barefoot and jog around the block, just to see. Only it isn’t about seeing, it’s about feeling! The pavements feel smooth, cold, wet. Leaves are falling from the trees, and are a light, barely-present tickle against my feet. Some kind of seed pod is scattered all over the ground, and as I step on them, I’m surprised to find that they ‘give’ under my weight. It’s a pleasant sensation. I gingerly hobble over the stones and grit where the road surface is broken, and bits stick painfully to my soles. I notice that I’m padding along on the ball of my foot more than I usually do when out I’m walking.  Back at the front door to my block of flats, I unlock and walk in. I wipe my feet, and the mat feels course, but warm after the leeching cold of the concrete outside. I notice I’ve left wet footprints on the tiled communal porch, and I imagine someone else in the block getting up early for work, and seeing these prints on their way out.