5pm and ... on? Listening to the trains passing nearby. Wind in the trees, some insects in the last blossoms of the fleeing summer. Picking some flowers for the windowsill. Having a beer between lilac and forsythe. Somewhere in between afternoon and evening, having mostly given up on the day and its unfinished proceedings. Following up later on that. There's always some church bell ringing, there's always some distant voices laughing and arguing, there's always a quiet sun disappearing from a sky same as quiet. (Trembling for a moment, feeling the early cold, trying to refrain from the work of thinking too much.)