Cycling home, the light of a soothing dusk and the softness of the quiet meadows under the bridge almost tangible in velvet air of early evening. Few restless travelers, a distant skyline vague blurred and old, reflections on almost nonexistent waves of a river that hardly seems to flow. Heading home, most of the day in the backpack, feet still in common routines and mind somewhere in between the elements. Too early again for dreams, maybe too late for controlled thinking and sometimes it feels like wrapping thoughts in words seems the best way to keep hold of them, at least a bit. For whatever it's worth. Have calm night everyone wherever you are.