Slowly, gingerly you close the door behind you in order to not wake your neighbors. Still, the sounds seem unnaturally loud in the night. The floorboards of the porch creak and complain as you step outside, and you feel a little stupid, a little shameful to be the one to disturb the silence. Almost as if you’d made a loud fart in church or sneeze during a funeral. Then again, night has its own sounds. The forest is never really quiet, but rather watchful. In the distance you hear cars on the motorway speeding home after midsummer celebrations elsewhere, and across the lake a freight train slowly passes by.