You knock on the door

You knock on the door but nobody answers. Cupping your hands around your face you peer through the side-panel of frosted glass. A kettle is whistling, a woman singing as she sets the table. This is a familiar house. You knock again. Inside, the sounds are festive. Glasses clink and a band starts up. Pressing your ear to the door, you hear the sound of your own laughter. This is the house you grew up in. You're sure of it now.
The revelers are boisterous, their dancing shadows on the lawn. Your legs are cold, there's frost on your shoes, and the cabby calls impatiently from the street. You remember a song that eluded you all day.