Much later, elsewhere but only half. The silence in between skies and hills feels soft but cold, quiescing some aspects of the days while still leaving them utterly present. Waiting to spot bats circling the huge ancient ash tree. Listening to the smaller lifeforms hidden in bushes and grass. Occasional laughter, sound of a phone ringing, village youth spending their time in the sleeping bus stop again. Many different evenings many different dreams in one split second and barely aware enough to notice even a fragment of those. Have a soft night wherever you are.
A bit later still. Reconnection failed, focus lost somewhere along the way. Wiping product updates out of inboxes, grumpy about the load of pointless input on an attention already wearing thin. Breathing the late air, placing mental images on mental maps instead, revisiting places seen ages ago. Not reconnecting here, either. Not that it was really needed. Have a soft night wherever you are.
Way further towards the night: Windowblinds still opened. A breath of cold air in between, hinting of forests and meadows and a slow moving river somewhere in between. Just across the street, a living room is prepared for the night, pillows properly arranged, lights dimmed and maybe it's these rituals too to conclude whatever day just went through. Sleep tight wherever you are.
Still in between. A flow of patterns leading to ideas but few of them see actually correct. Rewind, reconfigure, retry. At least, no audible grinding of digital gears. Past 9pm and day's still as bright as it managed to be, layers of grey sky above grey city and no more rain in cold air. Sleepy, tense, floating with the songs of voices only heard on the inside. Have a calm night wherever you are.
Much later, again. Dim light narrow rooms and a weird detached feeling looking at the notes collected ever since sunrise, the actual ones and the mental ones one wished to have put down, one knows to be faded a few hours from now. Still resisting sleep but slowly failing. A weird kind of intermediate reality, like the words the plot the stories unfolding between the lines of a book. An unwritten novel made of leftovers. And a hero living a life in arcane footnotes. Another dark hour. Music from a random past. A familiar voice. And a handful of stardust. Have a peaceful night wherever you are.