Afternoon in the valley again. Wondering where the day went. The sky turning white, kids playing somewhere nearby in the green, and sheep out there behind the pond. Still not fully one with everything, noticing the boundaries of all the segments of this long-known world.
Slowly concluding the day, later. Owner of the pub sitting on an old camping chair next to a table of the same age and style, closer to the sidewalk than to his door and rooms. Somehow, a couple of tourists made it there, sitting two tables to the left, chatting in a warm, melodic language and noticing their choice of beer feels sad, raises the urge to explain and leave some more sane recommendations but nothing like unwanted advice. Late bus, driver reading through a huge newspaper waiting for random passengers or sunset or a new morning, unsure about this part. Stairs, keys, lock, shower. Dense is the night again. Sleep safe everyone wherever you are.
Andernorts, überhitzt. Das bunte Viertel zerschnitten entlang von Schattenwürfen. Kontrastprogramm. Atem klebt in der Lunge, das Shirt auf der Haut. Ein Tag so dicht, man könnte darin schwimmen.
(There are the good days, the days to soar and float. And there are days for the soul to feel difficulties getting along with itself at all. Finding ways in between and getting more of the former as an ongoing task, asides everything else.)
Close to 9am. Business traffic in the streets. Bright sun flooding the other side of the houses. Trying to manage air flow and keeping blinds closed, a step back from the current world. The gift of a slower day.