Looking in windows     age ten in a car pre-dawn darkness a rectangle of warmth a woman serving breakfast a frying pan in her hand – that could be my life but it’s in the suburbs   age twenty on a trip needing directions walk up to the house a glassed-in verandah children’s art on easels – that could be my life but it’s treeless   age thirty in the mountains a hiker’s hut a red brick fireplace bright rugs on bare floorboards bunk-beds and backpacks – that could be my life but there is no garden   never…