Close to 6pm. Thunder. Lightning. The fierce sound of water rushing down old rusty pipes, across old stones, into old sewers. Grey prevailed the day, and it seems unwilling to give up by now.
(Jenseits des Fensters trommelt Regen auf Stein und Blech, beruhigend, gleichmäßige. Eilige Schritte tragen aufgeregte Stimmen zurück in die Flure und Treppenhäuser, ein Taxi parkt in zweiter Reihe, Koffer werden verladen, Routen verhandelt. Kerze, Tee, Fotos der Woche. Und einige offene Fragen, die noch warten sollen.)
(Und dann zurück ins Treppenhaus. Die Tropfen trocken lassen. Warten, dass der waagerechte Regen das Interesse verliert. Einzelne Worte sprechen und hören. Die eigenen Schuhspitzen beobachten. Und peinlich berührt feststellen, wie oft man ins Leere redet weil man längerem Augenkontakt nicht standzuhalten vermag. Der frühe Abend duftet nach nassem Asphalt.)
Light clouds and dark clouds and strong winds and weak breezes and green leaves on street trees and drops of rain across the windowpane, showing up and evaporating again. A prevalent feeling of everything being an organism of its own, breathing, pulsing, at times sighing. 4pm and a bit more to go. Somewhat restless. Somewhat exhausted. But still somewhat focussed. (No idea whether this is good or bad at this point.)
Different kinds of water.
10pm again, stalled. Listening to the sound of real and imaginary rain drumming the roof. Still keeping windows open, trying to get along with the mismatch between expected and actual temperature outside while the quarter is reconsidering sleep. Breathing all the late air, which again feels more earth and less city today. (A weird kind of experience while being knee-deep into wrestling arcane devices connected to a digital reality. Ambiguities beyond twilight.)