4pm and on, in a constant rush. Worlds and worlds behind sunglasses, racing with the clouds and the shadows: A vast multicoloured texture, hard to spot details and nuances but fairly overwhelmed by its magnitude. Letting pulse settle and then soar again. Until these familiar treelines cross horizons and the day dresses in evening once more.
4pm and on. Status updated, but only a bit. Sometimes attention gets stuck on things that went unnoticed for month and all of a sudden it's surprising how this even was possible. Adding comments to long logs. Summing up hours. And watching the flights of birds, dark under a bright white sky. Halfway out there already.
4pm and on. On the road. Noticing clouds veiling the sun, or sun piercing through clouds, not sure which way things are heading and who's been there first. Also: The never-changing mood of roadside attractions. Details that usually go unseen. Details that form a world of its own. Including, but not limited to dry thistles. Broken bottles. Stones.
Closing in on 4pm. The big and the small, the desire to repair things left unfixed for too long - and the struggle of wading through metaphorical mud and swamp. Not even daring to imagine what else might be hidden in there. (Train tracks, wagons, screeching brakes and a station halt always nearby. Cloud gazing, slightly at odds with oneself.)
4pm and on again. Switching facets of oneself, reloading that other part that relates to different daily aspects. Heading for the city, crossing bridges and the river, passing other places. New green new bloom and some hidden mud and dust in between. Skies too bright, traffic too loud. The afternoon is not waiting for anyone to catch up.