And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour...

Warm wind in the palm leaves, and I think of snow
In my distance province when things happen
That belonged to another, inconceivable life.
The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness
And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour,
And for me, now as then, it is too much.
There is too much world.

--- Czeslaw Milosz ( The Seperate Notebook)