10pm and on. The sleepiness of body and soul. Processing loop suspended for a moment, inputs collected yet unaddressed. Just noticing, not responding that much anymore. Sober and dizzy, watching invisible clouds veil any star that would be willing to dare and take its way onto these skies. Listening to the collective breath of those out there too tired to wake yet unwilling to already sleep, to let go of now. A shapeless songline. Have a quiet night wherever you are.
Close to 3pm, out there. Intermediate stops, changing cities again. Routes way too well known to consciously notice all details along the road. And still always very much resonating with the mood of places to pass by. The melody of this day. Things behind the curtains rarely changed here.
Schwerer Verkehr auf der Zubringerstrecke. Schrittgeschwindigkeit, abgelebte Betonwelt. An der Bushaltestelle sitzen zwei grimmige Herren links und rechts eines Bierkastens, an dem ein pinkfarbener Luftballon mit einer großen weißen 40 flattert. Unwirkliche Farben in einem fortgesetzt grauen Augenblick.
Finally, wrapping up the hours gone since sunrise. No stars, still leafless trees of a vast ash, and a sleeping pond surrounded by bushes and meadows. Standing at the backdoor again, for a brief moment as always when returning here, listening into the darkness and taking a small yet conscious step out of all ongoing conversations. The echoes of the day, the silence of Now. Have a peaceful sleep wherever you are.
4pm and on. Powered down this week. Stored whichever unfinished scribble was left behind in a huge book. Closed it. Locked it. The hum of the afternoon rush, the close encounters of other people on their way, the sneaking through traffic to finally make it to the valley again.