After dusk, after hours. The songs of the crows disappeared in unknown distances. Same as the wind. Quiet shadows of trees between houses and streets and the river and its meadows. Neighbours engaged in conversations on the balcony, an indifferent dog sleeping under that small table, candle flickering as if it was to prevent dark fully on its own. Striving to remember how the morning started but not getting hold of these thoughts anymore. Maybe there's goodness in this kind of forgetting, too. Have a soft night wherever you are.