He changes silently, like a breath. Early — sharp and harsh, grabbing details. Midday — generous and even, flooding all the space. Evening's — skewed, beautiful, drawnout, stretching shadows into long stripes. Watching this dance of light is like feeling time with your skin, not just by the clock. A sunspot on the floor slowly crawls from the chair to the couch, marking invisible milestones of the day. The room lives in this light, and you in it. At what hour does the light in your house become particularly beautiful, almost tangible?