Eventually the city almost ceases to speak. Sound of church bells echoing across streets and river and concrete and empty crossroads. A few people out there hurrying through early dark. More windows brightly lit today. Rereading ones own inner stories of this time of year. And be it just to feel calm for a few days.
6pm, slowly moving on. Submerging in local culture, art and history. Discovering ancient tales and contemporary imitations. A few steps further: The silence of humble, small churches, in a surprising and friendly way devoid of all the golden glamour seen elsewhere. Scent of centuries captured in between wooden benches. (Pondering values, confessions, spirituality. Especially in face of a rough mountain nature.)
Early evening. A moon. An open sky. And a setting sun. The quiet in these hours. // 366skies
Mornings. Veiled sun. Little clarity. Still waiting for the light to move in. // 366skies
9pm and on. Restarting heavy machinery. Cold hours, late days. Standing in the backyard, trying to reach for the grey sky almost touching the evergreen fir. Years later, all size becomes more relative in here. (Waiting for stars to get stuck im the tree. Or at least more snow.)