10pm. Wearing the night like a cape, hiding in the hood, invisible to what owns these hours. Sounds of dogs across the village, and of wild animals hiding where the fields end in forest. Scent of a fire that faded long ago, and a moment of serenity under the few stars that were spilled across thin clouds. Always at the edge of another day.
Close to 10pm, first time for this week. Uncounted hours, heavy load of thoughts, mental energy and focus running low again. Pursuing reasonably many things in parallel makes the hours feel much longer than they actually are. And at some point motion slows down, leaving behind a lot of question marks, a lot of half-baked scribble and very very little things to stand the test of time. (The art of knowing when to stop, when to take a break, when to get to sleep early. And the challenges of practising this.)