Betonpiste wird zu Wald wird zur grob befestigten Teerspur neben Wiesen und schmalem Flusslauf. Gelegentlich passiert man Anwesen mit hohen Zäunen, gelegentlich trifft man auf Menschen in Vorgärten, deren Blicke man spürt, anfänglich und lang, bis die Route den Sichtkontakt abreißen lässt. Unterwegs im Auge kühler, abweisender Neugier. Horizont im Rückspiegel, die Stadt sehr fern und manchmal fragt man sich, wie man diese kleine Welt wahrnähme, wäre alle Zeit hier konstant und unerschütterlich verankert.
4pm and cautiously on. Circumventing roadblocks and traffic jams. Hopefully. Trams, trucks, a few cars and cyclists in between. Some deviations will work, others won't, and in the end it's all just about moving forth. The city is crowded later that week.
4pm and on and rolling. Afternoons in suburbia. Passing concrete plains and rough muddy fields, parking lots the size of football fields in front of shopping malls of similar dimensions, and finally a forest of road signs next to outbound highways. Watching a cargo airplane cross sight, way up, red, yellow, and the skyline shrinking, disappearing in a dusty rear view mirror. Mode switching. Even though not yet being completely settled with things.
4pm and on. The sound of motorcycles, distant hammers and a dishwasher. Headphones aren't in for cancelling a lot of that environment today. On the sidewalk, next doors janitor is patiently explaining to some younger tenants how to correctly handle different kinds of garbage and trash and one seriously wonders whether some explanations are needed at all. Pondering baselines, communication and mutual respect. Thin ice, most of the time, not just on days as bright and warm as this.
4pm and on. Concrete, tar and yellow flowers in between. Everything merged into a vague colour gradient of countryside passing by. Stories of cities and motion, of inner sanctuaries and dusty outskirts and everything in between. Still trying to grasp the right soundtrack to this.