- [x] Set timer for 20 minutes - [x] Start writing The ravens slowly flew further and further away, their echoing voices like a train having left the station. A hollow silence was left behind, the absence of noise filling the space. The air had died. Sound had ended; life slowing, stopping. In this season of endings, the world seems to be bedding down. The high sunshine of the summer is replaced by low angles: both sun and sleet approach from the corners of the frame. The night crawls past, rotating, and rotating, seemingly never making progress towards the next turn.