Post 11pm. The quietness of the hills traded for the quietness of backyards of a random Saturday evening. Listening to the last of todays untold stories, inventing endings that haven't been thought of before. A winter night dreaming of bats and bright moons, with frozen darkness as an enduring companion in everything.
Night. Smooth darkness just slightly disturbed by city lights. And still there's always more than meets the immediate eye. // 366skies
10pm and on. The flickering of the light. The warmth of late rooms, once determined to keep the windy night out. Mental movies, actual sequences of frames on too tiny screens, opposing the huge TV set that makes no exception in also flooding this very days late hours with strong colours just across the street. Stories to tell, stories to hide, and volumes written from stories that never happened to someone.
10pm and on. Flashing lights, warm surroundings. Handling fragments, tempted to let go of what's left unfinished for months. In the end, the desire to keep things around wins: Entering archiving mode, trying to at least keep track and maybe find a way back to that one day. (Focus. Not always a bad thing, even though sometimes tiring if clinging to all day.)
Waiting for the frost.