Entlang des Weges: Dichter Schnee, Wind, Beton. Kein Horizont.Große Vögel auf den Pfosten alter Zäune. Immer noch weit vor jedem Ziel.
Later than usual. Heading home. Watching the lights blinking on cars in a long queue. Temporarily enticed by seeing how the subtly different frequencies then and now seem aligned for a few beats to then drift apart again. Too many faces and a load more stimuli to scratch an already tensed surface. Returning. Stepwise.
5pm and the bridges to cross. In between city districts and cultural divides. Watching streets awake while others almost return to sleep. Cloudy horizons, a frosty wind across skin and face. And the calming possibility of a river.
Unknown hour, amidst twilight of consciousness. Lying awake watching a tired-eyed self still filtering through input queues that should have been empty hours ago. The dizziness of stumbling out of dreams too early too late. Pulling sheets closer. Temperatures falling.
Andere graue Städte in jener seltsamen Zeit zwischen den Jahren. Gesichter, die man kennt, ohne sich an Namen zu erinnern. Leere Plätze, geschlossene Türen, dunkle Fenster. Der Fluss bleibt hörbar, vieles andere schweigt. Und in manchen Situationen ist man vorsichtig dankbar dafür.