The ever-bright night.
Sehr viel später: Auch die eigenen Zimmer finden wieder zum Licht jener Wochen. In manchem Alten, verpackt in Kisten und Holzwolle, lebt mehr Vergangenheit, mehr Jugend und Kindheit mit, als man sich mitunter eingestehen möchte. Wieder Gedanken an viel neuen Schnee, aber bislang ist die Nacht so wolkenlos und kalt wie der Morgen davor, auf den Fenstern überfrieren die Reste des gestrigen Eises, reflektieren die eigenen Farben, brechen jene, die auf den Balkonen und über den Höfen leuchten. (Noch immer Post. Noch immer einige Probleme ohne Ideen, einige Ideen ohne Probleme. Illusionen von Zeitersparnis und Effektivität. Irgendwann wird das Gleichzeitige zum Dauerzustand, aus dem man sich selbst des Abends schlecht lösen kann. Die Dämmerungen lächeln milde über Vorstellungen von Dingen ohne Reihenfolge: Traumbilder im wachen Alltag.)
Close to 10pm again. Too many stories once more, own ones and other peoples' alike. Filtering the different visual signals out of the rising backyard night, trying to sort by moods and colours. With the periods of darkness in days growing along the circle of the year, so does the amount of artificial lights people set up to help themselves and each other through and into another morning. Briefly opening a few windows to feel the breeze, surprised that though it's gradually getting cold it still doesn't bite as much as expected. And the old scent of river banks, wet roofs and empty streets was very well worth it. Memories edging dreams.
Close to 10pm. Once again. Candle flickering in a temporary strong breeze. The night in the quarter has turned dark, dense, impenetrable. New life in old rooms, over there. Most of the boxes have been unpacked, walls are still empty, another large screen is spilling its colours and pictures. Grabbing attention, while all the other windows are dark, still or already. Dozing away with the music. Friday evening, calming down, no expectations, no demands.
8pm and on. Kind of. Feeling the day, the distance, the change of weather in bones and soul. Slowly, the neighbourhood sinks into what can or could be Saturday night. Struggling to find the right sounds or thoughts in the indecisive state of seasons. And so hours step on.