Etwas später, das Schweigen jenseits der Küchenfenster. Kräutertee, heiß. Abendmusik und ein dunkles Firmament, von wenigen hellen Mustern besiedelt. (Die Weite da draußen hat nichts von ihrem alten Reiz verloren, aber sie wird unerreichbarer mit den eigenen Jahren.)
Closing in on 4pm. Creating backups, moving them around, knee-deep sunken into mere mechanics. Sun disappeared, clouds moved in. A still-white, warm light, and an air filled with myriads of tiny snowflakes. That mood of quiet winter again in days that could do so very much with moments of calm to counter mounting anxiety and gloom in too many corners of the known reality.
Dann andernorts. Verbindung herstellen zu fast verloren gegangenen Orten. Eine Kerze auf altem Holztisch. Anderes Bier, neue Gesichter. Ungewohntes aushalten. Auch in der Musik.
7pm. Returning, returned. Crossing roads, heading home before evening falls frozen. Trying to feel that city of ones own again. And to avoid ones very own darkness for a moment yet.
4pm and on. Getting off chair for the first time in hours. Dizzy, fighting a temporary urge to sort out and throw away things in the immediate surroundings. Opening physical windows instead, letting air float in and soothe a rough mind. Laughter of kids and a familiar song being sung next door. Almost dusk again.
4pm, stepping outside, grasping difference between measurement and perception when it comes to weather and temperature. Watching a couple of crows place nuts on the crossroads, always steering clear of trucks, using the few seconds in between to pick what's been cracked. Other kinds of business, other kinds of tools. (Tramway. People. Overly stimulated again.)
4pm. Shelved sessions, logged off. Still not good at cultivating a continuity mode where everything of relevance is just filed to be forgotten until weekend's over. Switching context, nevertheless. Moving forth, outbound. The city is all hustle and warm light.
Symbole und Markierungen. Rotweiße Hüte in einer schlampig gestellten Reihe zwischen den Fahrspuren, einer davon auf dem Kopf eines Jugendlichen, der mit seinesgleichen über die alte Brücke nachtwärts schlendert. Zitternde Laternenmonde treiben über dunkle Wellen weit unten. Pendler auf dem Heimweg. Die andere Stunde müder Gesichter.