10pm and on. Slowing down. Always enough momentum to keep a busy mind on turning. Counting the windows that go dark for the night. A distant airplane pulling temporary stars through the void of the nightsky, red, white. The diffusive, fuzzy halo of the other neighbourhoods light just above the houses, where roofs end. The unheard sounds of the violin some floors below, the violin that stopped practicing hours ago. (Home is where monkeys and elephants sleep.)