10pm and on. Surrounded by almost total darkness, all senses are on alert. Water drops in the well. All kinds of noises in the bushes and trees. Music far away enough to feel more threatening than comforting. Chasing ghosts in old gardens. And in oneself. 

Irgendwann unter den Sonnenblumen: Wieder Regenbögen im Fächer des Sprinklers beobachten. Gelegentlich lernen, was passiert, wenn Windböen und feine Wassertropfen aufeinandertreffen. Haut trocknet schneller als Kleidung, auch an brütenden Tagen. Dann werden die Wolken dichter, am Horizont. Und der Schatten lässt heißen Mittag ein bisschen erträglicher sein. 

Leaving the small patch of green behind, for now. Closing that wooden gate, staying outside for a while to see whether the birds show up from their retreats again (which they don't). Ants on bare feet and mostly bare legs. Stunned and dazed like always by all the colours dusk has opted to offer, just slightly above the trees where the planes depart and the sun passes into tomorrow. 9pm and still a bit further.