10pm and on. The late hours to follow a slow afternoon. Always sundays, like looking ahead briefly, eyeing what lies behind the next dusk and dawn. Knowing the specialties of the hours in between. The weird paths of these dreams to start randomly and be gone again in early morning. Everything washed into consciousness once more before a new week returns to its familiar rhythm. Somewhere along the backyard, some TV station is spreading news again. A few stars blinking above silent roofs. Air's a bit cooler, has a soft scent of fir trees, wet meadows and a river. Breathing, inhaling. And focussing on senses and perception for a moment, trying not to process, to evaluate. A challenging exercise, again and again. Sleep well and calm dreams everyone, no matter where you are.