Almost 8 again. Magpie-shaped spectator up in the tree, motionless, gazing into what seems early golden sunlight after a starry cold night. Waking city traffic. A new construction site, old neighbours, the usual friction that come with these hours. (And sometimes, there's a hole in everything it seems for time to just disappear in. Seconds without thoughts, or at least an attempt to. Before dialing in again.)