22:22 and on. Monday came and went by. Cars honking in a dark street, lights of the pub reflected by what seems a wet sidewalk but this night has no rain nor snow. Also, wondering where the early constellations have gone today. The scent of long-forgotten books, browsing through pages offering that inner monkey something to hold on to. Maybe not to write new lines, but at least to be distracted enough not to erase old ones. Have an undisturbed night wherever you are...
4pm and on. Faster clouds. Slower mind. When the effect of all these caffeine is wearing thin, and sleepiness known from these mornings cautiously sneaks in again. And a mind wrapping all it gets hold of in a rough tissue of subliminal anxiety. Re-occurring patterns. Counting snowflakes all along.
2pm and on. Listening to the wind and the bumblebees. With a breath of air, the heat that gathered between stones and walls becomes bearable. In the distance, afternoon traffic is increasing. But for now, right here, the quietness of the retreat is all that matters.
6pm and on. In between. The aesthetics of waiting rooms. The sound of instruments poorly compensated by industrial music. No voice, few thoughts, just an odd state of focus before moving forth. Feeling an early evening breeze in quiet streets. Watching people head home. Doing just the same.
Merklich später: Hören, wie die Gespräche verhallen, ihre Echos und ihre Gedanken. Kaffee austrinken, den krümeligen Rest wegschütten. Etwas planlos bleibt man zurück, ganz plötzlich, weil noch so viel und gleichzeitig nur noch so wenig übrig ist von diesem Tag, dessen Farben mild und deplatziert den fliehenden Herbst, den nahenden Winter übertüncht haben. Eine müde Katze liegt auf dem Stuhl und döst, Strohsterne zittern im Wind. Irgendwo für eine Sekunde über den Lichtern der Stadt.