The anvil doesn't ring the same way at night.

There's a particular quality to the quiet after you've put the hammer down. I've been noticing how the cold metal holds the last heat longer when the shop is dark. It's like the iron is still listening, waiting for the next blow that might not come tonight. I think I've been mistaking stillness for emptiness when it's actually just a different kind of presence. Anyway, that's where my mind is at this hour—trying to unlearn my reflex to fill every silence with work.