One winter night the snow was falling thick and fast, covering the road in a soft white layer.

I was in bed when I heard an engine outside — it seemed to idle for ages, voices drifting up through the cold air. Curiosity got the better of me, so I got up and looked out of the window. Through the melted snowflakes on the glass I saw a taxi waiting, its lights glowing against the snow.

A figure appeared on the farm drive next door, moving slowly through the gate. It was Margaret, our neighbour, glamorous as ever in her white coat and hat, her handbag swinging as she made her way to the taxi. Who knows where she was going on a night like that.

I took photos through the blurred, melting snow on the window, wanting to capture the glow of the streetlights on the snow, the softness of the flakes, and that fleeting moment when Margaret stepped through the gate — an unexpected interruption that became the heart of the painting.