10pm and on. Below the fir, physically, mentally. Counting the stars that peek through the needles. And the windows that still are lit. A kind manifestation of night, and a deep calm gratitude for the moment, the day.
11pm and on. Pausing, looking back to take a peek at the traces left behind. Early leaves of cherry blossoms covering a concrete parking lot. Teenagers in dark clothes hiding behind bushes and shopping carts, gathering around the blue glow of a larger speaker emitting french and russian rap. Some cars remained here even when the store closed down, nobody apparently bothered. Stories of hiding in the niches of todays world, even while they're getting smaller and more uncomfortable. But for the moment, night caresses quite a lot.
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.