I like to work at night – sometimes until dawn. At night I imagine that time belongs to me – by day, I belong to time. And at night, time sometimes passes more slowly – on occasion I can even make it stand still. And while the sounds of the world often pass by unnoticed during the day, our attention in the silence of night is heightened and focused on a few sounds, sometimes far apart, and we wait with keen ears for the next one: the wind in the trees, the rustling of the leaves, the cracking of a branch, a tired birdcall or a car somewhere in the distance. And there is also the expanse of the night sky. I love watching shooting stars in August: brief illuminated points of enormous speed in the immobile darkness. In my imagination, these events are magnified: myriads of shooting stars falling from the sky in dense trails. They form rapidly-moving curtains. And these “curtains” provide the form for my piece. They keep appearing, and in the course of the piece become ever slower and weightier, coming less from “above” and shining ever more weakly. Between them lies what became sound for me in the night-time hours.