Much later. Elsewhere. Images of meadows changing with the flow of weeks, the routines of life out here between the hills. Grass, flowers, some grain in between, a dense carpet green in shade of the trees and slightly yellow where it touches the sun at daytime. But now light's retreating again, echoes of the week still strong enough to hide the silence of this place, to keep brain spinning in its half-idle thoughts while the body's striving to get some rest. Emptying glasses, at the backdoor. Breathing the air of a young night. A liner note in a mental journal, and a new dusk. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.