(Nochmal unter freiem Himmel. Weil die frostige Luft Gedanken kühlt. Weil die Dämmerung auch an kalten Abenden irgendwie mild wirkt. Weil das alte, abgegriffene, kohlenrauchschwere Dunkel der Stadt trotzdem freundlicher, weniger bedrohlich wirkt als jedes neue Dunkel.)
7pm and on. Pastel hours. Returning, noticing the many different weathers to be found in between mountains, forests and lake. Wondering whether that's unique to time spent in places like this - or just about the same everywhere else and the usual mode of daily operation hides away all these details from conscious perception. Trembling while cold sinks down on the meadows. Still early, yet it feels late enough to call it a day.
8pm and stumbling. Still early yet late again. Considering night and dreams, somehow lost to an unrequited love affair with that odd moments just before dusk, when the city lights wake again, the air carries that certain scent, everything emits an all-embracing quietness even in between cars on a crowded street and music is just enough in drums, a dark base guitar and a voice same as dark. Surfing blue hours to dive into deep darkness, always feeling like letting behind a lot of things that were as well as a lot of things that could have been - and still feeling content and comfortable with it.