9pm and on. Returning. Spending out in the green what's left of this years sunny weeks, consciously stepping out of the flow of hours, the train of thought, and randomly reaching a point where re-connecting the common days feels challenging and unfamiliar. Digging through messages in various inboxes and outboxes, not just digital ones. Wondering whether everything that has been put to words actually also needs to be put on the trip - or whether some thoughts, no matter how witty they once seemed, just got dull and pointless with time carelessly ticking further. Feeling utterly untrained in many arts, including the art to just let go of these things and move on.