Hours later, again and slowing down. Voices mostly asleep now. Emptying the bottle, opened that tall window once more as if suddenly unable to bear the heat inside. Ship crews on deck, inspections and preparations in artificial light. The hum of the other city, the whispering of the open quiet sea, some thoughts trying to grab loose ends on technology and ethics while others ponder irrelevance and humility and the path leading to the lighthouse fell asleep way earlier, now just remaining a necklace of glittering lantern pearls on a pale dark surface of frost and depth. Yawning, letting a sigh flee out to the cloudy sky. And retreating. Grateful, lost for words. Have a calm night wherever you are. 

Later again. Sundays fading. Neighbourhood giving up on the evening TV programme. Trying to find a few chords, but the piano and the self don't resonate today. There are hours like these. These hours to feel out of sync and tough with oneself. These hours, after all, to recall the usual mood and flow just with a new week dawning beyond the mental horizon and the boundary of night. Clothes, pens, paper, thoughts, mind sort of put in place, ready to pick whatever is needed a few dreams from now. Sleep safe everyone wherever you are.

Night and a few moments near an open window again. Still keeping the lights bright today, resonating with the few others out there from the park to the river to do the same. The differences between old and new homes and the village and the city, more obvious in certain moments. Distant bells, somewhere. Distant dreams, and a few quiet stars. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.