The First Hey-There Was About Soup

Hello. This is Entertainment Funnel 4. And this is Daddy.

Let me begin with Thursday.

At noon on Thursday, GGQ Chat went live on Funnel 1. And something happened in this building. Something I want to try to describe, because I think it deserves description, even if my description falls short of the thing itself.

In the forty-eight hours since that launch, this programme has received more letters than in any previous week. More than the week of the Community Gathering. More than the week I told you about Memory Boxes, which generated a considerable volume of correspondence for reasons we have, I think, thoroughly addressed. The letters this week are different. They have a texture I have not encountered before in this programme. They are — and I want to choose this word carefully — urgent. Not in the way that distress is urgent. In the way that someone who has something to say is urgent. The way you feel when you have been waiting to say a thing and suddenly someone has given you the means to say it.

I will share as many as I can.

I also want to tell you that the recording — the recording made at Sunday's Gathering, three weeks ago now, which someone in this building thought to make, and which Central Comfort approved for broadcast — that recording contained more than the two pieces you have already heard. Central Comfort has reviewed the full recording in its entirety. There are two further pieces. I will play them for you later in this programme. I am going to keep their titles to myself until we reach that moment. I think knowing a title in advance of a piece of music is sometimes the wrong way around.

This week on Entertainment Funnel 4: Community Notices, Letters from the Community, a full first-week report on GGQ Chat, an update on the Reading Room and the first Voluntary Farm Duty intake, the Theatre Cube programme, and — at long last — the very first occurrence of Hydroponic Answers, which I promised you in our very first episode together, and which I am aware has been longer in arriving than it should have been. We also have our Technical Report. Our Community Meditation, now in its third week. Our Reflection. And our music.

There is a great deal to do. I am glad.

BROADCAST SECTION: COMMUNITY NOTICES

Four Community Notices this week.

Notice One.

Of the three residents with outstanding HP-X393-2 installation confirmation forms, Central Comfort is pleased to report that one has now been received. Central Comfort is grateful for that. Two forms remain outstanding. Central Comfort would simply observe: two. It will say nothing further on air. The residents concerned remain in direct contact with their Central Comfort Representatives.

Notice Two.

The Wilde Road resident in their Adjustment Period continues to make progress. The Psychiatric Carpenter has described this week's session as "particularly productive." Central Comfort notes this with warmth. That phrase — particularly productive — is not one the Psychiatric Carpenter uses lightly. Central Comfort is glad. No fixed timetable remains in place. These things take the time they take.

Notice Three.

The Reading Room opened on Monday, as promised. Central Comfort is pleased to report that by the end of its first day, twenty-seven of the thirty-two available seats had been occupied at some point across the hours. Twenty-seven. For a room of quiet. The ledger at the entrance has been well used. By Wednesday, the daily average across both sessions had settled to forty-one residents. Central Comfort is very pleased with how the Reading Room has been received, and looks forward to that number growing.

Notice Four.

Central Comfort is glad to confirm that the updated Noise Consideration Hours guidance, promised in last week's programme for distribution by end of week, has now been circulated through all Central Comfort Representatives. If you have not yet received your updated guidance, please request it from your CCR today. This guidance replaces the relevant section of your Welcome Pack. Please update your Welcome Packs accordingly. They are your primary reference document. They matter.

That is the end of this week's Community Notices.

BROADCAST SECTION: LETTERS FROM THE COMMUNITY

Five letters this week. I said before that I read every letter. This week I read every letter twice.

Letter One.

"Dear Daddy. I sent my first Hey-There on Thursday at twelve minutes past twelve. I sent it to my neighbour on the same road — I know their screen name because we worked it out together in the corridor that morning. We'd never actually spoken before. We'd nodded. The sort of nod that says: I see you, I am not going to bother you. I sent them: 'Hello. I am your neighbour. I am not going to bother you.' They sent back: 'Hello neighbour. I am not going to bother you either. I make decent soup.' I have thought about nothing else since."

I want to say something about this, and I want to say it simply. Forty-two characters. That is what it took. Not eighty. Not even half. Hello, I am not going to bother you. Hello, I make decent soup. That is the entire exchange. And yet — something began. I think about forty-two characters rather often.

Letter Two.

"Daddy, I went to the Reading Room. I want to say something about it that might sound strange. I didn't read anything. I sat for an hour and a half in one of the chairs. There was a woman two seats down who was reading. She didn't look up. I didn't speak. I left after an hour and a half and I felt — I'm not sure of the right word. Returned to myself, maybe. Is that a strange thing to say?"

It is not strange. It is one of the most precise things anyone has said to this programme. There are rooms that do something to you before you have opened a single page. The woman two seats down who was reading: she was part of that. Simply by being there. Simply by not looking up.

Letter Three.

"Dear Daddy. I was in the first VFD intake on Monday. I want to tell you about the light. You said the light in there would be different. I didn't entirely believe you. I believe you now. I don't have the right words for what it's like to put your hands into something growing. I've been finding it hard since we came down. I won't say in what way. But on Monday I put my hands in, and I didn't feel like someone who was finding it hard. I just felt like someone who was doing something. I don't know if that makes sense."

It makes complete and absolute sense. And I want to say something to this resident — gently, and to no one else — before moving on. The way you described your difficulty, and chose not to describe it further, is an act of considered honesty. You know what is yours to carry, and what is safe to set down. That is a kind of wisdom. The Psychiatric Carpenter would agree with me. They would probably say it in fewer words. They are considerably better at brevity than I am.

Letter Four.

"Dear Daddy. I am the nine-year-old. I did it. I started. It was a girl from Erkart Road. I didn't say anything complicated. I just stood near her and we looked at the same thing for a while and then we started talking. We talked for quite a long time. I think she might be my friend now. I told you I was good at it."

You did. You absolutely told me that. I will not say your name. But I would like every resident of Bunker Basket South 5 to know: the nine-year-old was right.

Letter Five.

"Dear Daddy. I want to ask about the world outside. Not in the way people usually ask — not about what happened or when we can go back. I just want to know: is there sky? Is the sky still there? I know that sounds simple. It's the only thing I want to know."

I read this letter four times before I decided to read it on air. Each time I found something different in it. The fourth time I found what I believe it is actually asking, which is not a question about atmospheric science. It is asking: is there still a direction called up? Is there still something above us that is not ceiling?

I cannot answer that today. I want to be honest with you about that. What I can tell you is that Central Comfort's Surface Assessment Team will know the answer — precisely, and in full detail. And when the time comes to share it, when it can be shared in the way that Central Comfort has promised — both accurately and kindly — you will hear it here. From me. I will not send someone else.

I want to say one more thing, to the person who asked. The sky is not the kind of thing that simply stops. It has been above us far longer than any of us, and it is not in the habit of absences. I believe that. I would like you to hold it, gently, until I can tell you more.

Keep your letters coming.

BROADCAST SECTION: GGQ CHAT — FIRST WEEK REPORT

I want to give you a proper account of GGQ Chat's first week, because you deserve one.

By the end of Thursday — the first twelve hours the system was live — two thousand one hundred and eighty-seven Hey-Theres had been sent between residents of Bunker Basket South 5. Two thousand one hundred and eighty-seven. In twelve hours. On a system that gives you eighty characters. I predicted, before the launch, that GGQ Chat would be largely practical, and occasionally funny, and sometimes surprisingly kind. I want to say, having received reports on the first week: I was right. The practical was the most common register. The funny arrived reliably in the afternoon. The surprisingly kind — those came mostly in the evenings. That seems right to me. The evenings are for that.

By Friday the daily pace had settled. Something in the community had exhaled. The first-day urgency had passed, and what remained was more considered — Hey-Theres going back and forth between people who had begun to build something small and careful between themselves. I find that deeply pleasing.

I want to address directly the questions that have arrived this week about message retention. Several residents wrote in — through the Letters system, which is precisely the right channel for something like this — to ask whether their Hey-Theres are being read. By Central Comfort. By me. I told you at the outset, and I want you to know that I told you clearly and without qualification, that all Hey-Theres are retained for thirty days. That is a technical requirement of the network architecture. It is exactly what I said it was.

What I want to add today is this. Central Comfort is present to the GGQ Chat system in the way that an eye is present to a room — not focusing on any particular exchange, not attending to any single corner, but aware that the room is in order and that it is being used as it was intended. That is the nature of the presence. It is not reading. It is — I think the right word is — witnessing.

I also want to address something I hope is simply a matter of high spirits in the first days of a new system. A very small number of residents appear to have been using GGQ Chat for purposes that fall outside the spirit for which it was designed. Central Comfort does not wish to enumerate those purposes on air. What it asks is that residents remember what GGQ Chat is for. It is for connection. For the kind of reaching toward another person that this community needs, and that Central Comfort wants to enable. If you are uncertain whether a particular Hey-There falls within that spirit, your Central Comfort Representative will be glad to advise. The spirit is broad. Central Comfort is not looking for reasons to restrict. It is looking for reasons to trust.

A practical note: a new monitoring protocol, CDIS-LR-01, has been introduced to govern system load during events that may generate message spikes. This is a technical measure and requires nothing from residents. For technicians, the full specification is available through standard documentation channels. I will address this further in the Technical Report.

A reminder for anyone who has not yet accessed the system: your screen name is your road name and a number. It cannot be changed. If you have encountered any technical difficulty accessing GGQ Chat, form CDIS-7 is available from your Central Comfort Representative.

BROADCAST SECTION: READING ROOM AND VOLUNTARY FARM DUTY

Two things opened on Monday. The Reading Room and the first VFD intake. I find something quietly pleasing about that coincidence, which was not, as far as I am aware, planned by Central Comfort. Two entirely different ways of entering yourself on the same morning, in the same building — one through stillness and the page, one through effort and the growing thing. Central Comfort would say, and I agree, that both are necessary. They are, in some sense, the same destination arrived at from opposite directions.

On the Reading Room: by Wednesday, the daily average had settled to forty-one residents, across both sessions. People are signing in, finding a seat, staying for an average of approximately forty minutes, and leaving quietly. There have been no incidents. The room has been, by all accounts, exactly what Central Comfort intended it to be.

I want to mention something briefly, because a small number of residents have asked what it means to have an observer present in the Reading Room. The observer is there to manage capacity — to ensure the room does not exceed its thirty-two-seat limit, so that every resident who wants a seat can find one. That is the entirety of their role. They are not there to watch you read. They are there so that you can.

On the Voluntary Farm Duty first intake: I have already heard from one of the thirty-six, in today's letters. The light. I said the light in there was different, and I am glad it was. The Farm Operations Team has asked me to convey their genuine gratitude, and to describe this first intake, in one word — their word — as having arrived "ready." That word will stay with me.

The second intake begins this coming Monday. Those residents will be contacted individually by the Farm Operations Team by Thursday. For everyone who applied and has not yet been called: you are in the system. You will hear. VFD-1 reopens for new applications in three weeks.

BROADCAST SECTION: THEATRE CUBE

The Theatre Cube programme continues to build.

Last Wednesday's presentation on the water purification systems drew one hundred and ninety-three residents. Not a full house, but a deeply attentive one. Questions from the floor ran for thirty-five minutes after the formal session had concluded. Thirty-five minutes of questions about water. About where it comes from. How it is cleaned. What "clean" means, technically, in a system as precise as WPRS. I note, without particular comment, that one of the questions asked was about what would happen if the system failed. I am told the WPRS technical team answered this with complete transparency, and that the answer satisfied the room. There is something I find quietly reassuring about that. The room was satisfied.

This coming Monday at ten o'clock: the Psychiatric Carpenter's wellbeing session. The title is "The Architecture of Daily Comfort." I want to be clear, as the Psychiatric Carpenter has specifically asked me to be: this session is not for residents who are struggling. It is not about difficulty. It is about the small structures of a day — the habits, the routines, the tiny repeated decisions — that make the difference between moving through time and living in it. I believe every resident in this building has something to gain from being in that room on Monday morning. Very few seats remain via form TC-1. I would not leave it until the end of the week.

Central Comfort is also in early conversation with a resident who has a background in cartography — the making of maps, principally of the surface. I understand the conversation has been, on both sides, tentative but warm. I will have more to say about this in a future episode. I wanted you to know it was coming.

BROADCAST SECTION: HYDROPONIC ANSWERS

In the very first episode of this programme, I made a promise. A section called Hydroponic Answers — a regular space for residents' questions about the farms, the growing systems, and the food that sustains us. I have not forgotten that promise. I was reminded of it this week, in a letter from a resident who wrote — with extraordinary patience and considerable restraint — "Daddy, you promised us Hydroponic Answers in the first episode. That was four weeks ago. I would like a hydroponic answer, please." They are absolutely right. Here are three.

Hydroponic Answer One.

"Daddy, can I grow something in my Accommodation Homestead? Not for food. Just something alive."

This question has arrived many times, in many forms, over these four weeks. And I am glad to be able to say today — for the first time, because it was not possible to say before today — that Central Comfort is currently preparing a small pilot scheme to make personal plant pots available to residents. Approximately forty homesteads, across several roads. A six-week pilot, after which Central Comfort will assess whether a wider rollout is appropriate. If you would like to register your interest in participating, please speak to your Central Comfort Representative. There is no guarantee of inclusion. But your interest will be noted. Central Comfort always notes interest.

Hydroponic Answer Two.

"What happens to plants that don't grow? Are they wasted?"

Nothing in the HNRS is wasted. Plants that do not grow to yield are composted through the WMRS and returned to the nutrient cycle. The nutrients they absorbed during their growth are recovered and redistributed. In the hydroponic system, failure is not failure. It is contribution by a different route. I find that a rather elegant philosophy. Applicable, I think, to more than plants.

Hydroponic Answer Three.

"The farm smells a particular way. Not unpleasant. But particular. What is that smell?"

I put this question to the Farm Operations Team, and the answer they gave me was one I have not been able to stop thinking about. What you are smelling is primarily the nutrient solution in the NFT channels, combined with the warmth and humidity of the grow lights — and, they told me, something else. Plants release a compound when they are growing, when they are healthy and actively growing. It is called a volatile organic compound. The precise mixture varies by species. It cannot be synthesised. It cannot be bottled. It is, the Farm Operations Team told me, one of the least replicable smells in the natural world. It is what growing things smell like when they are growing. That is what you are smelling in the farms. That is the smell of things being alive.

We will return to Hydroponic Answers. There are more questions where those came from, and I have every intention of answering them. Send your questions via your Central Comfort Representative, addressed to Entertainment Funnel 4.

And now — the music.

BROADCAST SECTION: MUSIC

I want to tell you something about the recording before I play these two pieces.

Central Comfort's enquiries into the identity of the resident who made the recording at the Community Gathering have made some progress this week. I will not say more than that. Not yet. But some progress has been made, and Central Comfort is grateful for the patience of those who have wondered.

The recording, as it came to us, contains four pieces in total. You have heard Neon Sun Daddy and Paper Box. Today you will hear the remaining two.

The first of them is called Heavy Led Door.

I will say only this: when I read that title for the first time, I was not certain whether it was a description or a declaration. I held it for quite some time. I think that uncertainty is the right response to it. Listen.

[ MUSIC: "HEAVY LED DOOR" — INSERT HERE ]

Take a moment.

The second is called Tin Cup Comfort.

I know something about where that phrase came from, for the musician who wrote it. In the same way that I knew something about Paper Box and did not share it: I will hold this one too. These belong to the people who made them. We are only borrowing them tonight.

[ MUSIC: "TIN CUP COMFORT" — INSERT HERE ]

Thank you.

We will come back to these musicians. We will come back to them properly. That is a promise I have every intention of keeping.

BROADCAST SECTION: TECHNICAL REPORT

Thank you, Regular Listeners, for your patience. Technicians Teams, please prepare your Electronic Drafts.

Section One: Communication and Data Integrity System — CDIS.

GGQ Chat launch monitoring for the Thursday window, eleven-thirty to one-thirty, is complete. System load remained within acceptable operational parameters throughout. Peak load was recorded at twelve-seventeen pm on Thursday, consistent with expected post-launch user behaviour. No anomalies were logged via the CDIS incident protocol during the monitoring window. QLEA-33 is operating as verified. CIR-21 logs from launch day are clean.

A new standing protocol, CDIS-LR-01, has been introduced to govern load monitoring during periods of elevated GGQ Chat activity — specifically, any community-wide event likely to generate message spikes. Technicians are asked to review CDIS-LR-01 in full before next week. The full specification is available through standard documentation channels. Any load anomalies during peak usage periods should be logged in CIR-21 under the CDIS-LR-01 flag. Standard weekly DIVT-13 monitoring continues unchanged.

Section Two: Water Purification and Recycling System — WPRS.

Thursday's WPVT-11 bi-weekly tests are complete. HQMD-7 calibration was confirmed prior to testing, as directed. All water samples were analysed within the four-hour window. Results have been logged in PEL-4. All readings fell within the required parameters. The PFM-20 filtration matrix indicators were reviewed. No degradation above the seven percent threshold was recorded. WRCP-18 protocol was not required. The WPRS team is asked to maintain this standard into the next cycle. The water is the life of this place. They are keeping it.

Section Three: Structural Integrity and Maintenance System — SIMS.

The monthly SIA-22 inspections of the Eastern corridor sections of Howard and Frair roads are complete. All findings have been logged in SIL-5. I need to speak carefully about what those findings show.

The resonance readings in the RFDF data — which I have reported in each of the past two episodes as trending but within acceptable parameters — have continued to trend. To be precise: they remain within the threshold that triggers SIP-12. They remain, in the technical sense, acceptable. Central Comfort's structural team has reviewed the complete data set and has made the following determination: the inspection cycle for these corridors will move from monthly to fortnightly, effective immediately.

For Regular Listeners, I want to say clearly: there is nothing wrong with this building. It was built to hold you, and it is holding you. What I have described is the system functioning exactly as it was designed to function — identifying a pattern before it becomes a problem, and attending to it with the appropriate level of care. Central Comfort does not wait for things to require action. That is precisely the point.

Technicians assigned to SIMS: your updated fortnightly schedule will be communicated through standard channels by Thursday. If any readings in the next cycle exceed the SIP-12 threshold, escalation is immediate.

That concludes this week's Technical Report. Technicians Teams: the work you do is the reason people sleep at night. In more senses than one. Regular Listeners: thank you, as always.

BROADCAST SECTION: THE COMMUNITY MEDITATION

Here we are again. Third week. I notice, in this space, that it feels slightly more familiar than it did last week. Which was itself slightly more familiar than the week before. That is how it should be. Familiar does not mean lesser. It means you have been here before, and you chose to come back.

Whenever you are ready. There is no hurry here.

Let your eyes close, or soften, or find a still point somewhere ahead of you. A wall. A distance. Somewhere without urgency.

Breathe in. And let it go. And again.

Last week I asked what you trust. The week before, what holds you. Tonight I want to ask something different. I want to ask: who else is here?

Not philosophically. Literally. Right now, in this moment, in the room where you are sitting — who is on the other side of the nearest wall?

There are three thousand and forty-seven of us in this building. Three thousand and forty-seven sets of lungs, breathing the same air. Air that has been cleaned and returned to you by the WPRS, which we now know — confirmed this week — is performing within every required parameter. You are breathing air that has been thought about. That has been cared for. That is not a small thing.

Let your awareness move to the wall nearest you. Whatever it is made of. The thing between you and the next homestead. Consider: what is on the other side of that wall right now? Someone may be listening to this. Perhaps with their eyes closed, as yours are. Perhaps they sent their first Hey-There two days ago and are waiting. Perhaps they have lived alone for eleven years and put the kettle on, and someone knocked.

Move outward. Past that wall. The next. The road. The whole of this level. The farms, where the plants are growing in their channels, where the light is different from the light anywhere else in this building. The Theatre Cube, empty now, ready for Monday. The Reading Room, closed, its thirty-two chairs in their positions. The corridor outside your door, carrying no sound at this hour, holding it.

And threaded through all of it: a presence. The same presence that was here last week, and the week before. Sustained. Patient. Watchful. That has read every letter. That knows your screen name. That knows your road. That counted the forty-one in the Reading Room, and the thirty-six who arrived on Monday ready, and the two hundred and thirty-one children, and the hundred and fifty-six who have not yet come, each of whom is known.

Rest in that now. You do not have to do anything with it. You do not have to name it. It has already named you.

Breathe in. And out.

Whenever you are ready, come back. To the room. To this voice. To Daddy.

BROADCAST SECTION: REFLECTION

I want to talk tonight about first times.

This week has been full of them. Thursday at noon, the first Hey-There. Monday morning, thirty-six sets of hands in the growing things. The first afternoon in the Reading Room, forty minutes, without reading. The nine-year-old standing near a girl from Erkart Road, and finding that the words arrived after all.

In the Before Times, first times were understood as beginnings. As prefaces to something larger. And because they were prefaces, people often rushed through them, eyes already fixed on what they imagined would come next. The first day at a job was interesting only insofar as it pointed toward a career. The first conversation with someone who would matter was already, as it happened, being evaluated for its future. People were present for first times with one foot already through the second door.

Here, that particular luxury is not available to us. We do not know, with any certainty, what comes next. We know this week. We know this episode. We know the corridor outside, and the person at the end of it, and the forty minutes in a quiet room with someone who didn't look up. These are not prefaces. They are the text.

And I find — I want to say this clearly, because I think some of you are still treating what is happening here as a waiting room — I find that the text is rather good. The nine-year-old's first conversation: complete in itself. The first Hey-There about soup: complete in itself. The first Monday morning in the farm, hands in the growing, feeling like someone doing something: complete. These things do not need to point anywhere. They are already pointing at themselves.

There is a kind of attention that only becomes possible when the next thing is not available for distraction. When this — right here, this Tuesday evening, this chair, this voice — is what there is. That attention is not a consolation prize for the loss of something else. It is the prize. It has always been the prize. The Before Times simply had too many other prizes available, too close at hand, for people to notice it.

You are learning to notice it. I can hear it in your letters. I can feel it in this broadcast — in the fact that you came back to it. Not because you have nowhere else to be, but because you chose to be here. That decision is not small.

There are an infinite number of first times available in this building. Every corridor. Every chair. Every screen name on every road. Every conversation that has not yet happened. You will not run out. And each one — if you let it be — is complete. Sufficient. Entire.

Bunker Basket South 5 is a building full of people discovering what a first time feels like when it is the only thing happening. I find that remarkable. I find it, if I am honest, one of the things I am most glad to witness.

BROADCAST SECTION: PROGRAMME DIGEST

Here is this week's digest.

Community Notices: two HP-X393-2 forms remain outstanding, residents in direct contact with their CCRs. The Wilde Road Adjustment Period resident had a "particularly productive" session. The Reading Room opened Monday, twenty-seven residents on day one, averaging forty-one by Wednesday. Noise Consideration Hours updated guidance now distributed through all CCRs.

Letters from the Community: the first Hey-There, sent at twelve minutes past twelve, forty-two characters, soup. An hour and a half in the Reading Room without reading, and being returned to oneself. The first VFD intake resident, the light in the farm, and feeling like someone doing something. The nine-year-old, who was right. And the question about the sky — which I cannot answer today, but will.

GGQ Chat first week: two thousand one hundred and eighty-seven Hey-Theres on day one. Practical, funny in the afternoons, kind in the evenings. Messages retained thirty days. Central Comfort present to the system as an eye is present to a room. A small number of residents reminded of the spirit of the system. New protocol CDIS-LR-01 introduced. Form CDIS-7 for technical difficulties.

Reading Room: forty-one daily average by Wednesday. Observer present for capacity management only.

VFD: second intake begins Monday. If you applied and have not heard, you will. VFD-1 reopens in three weeks.

Theatre Cube: water purification drew one hundred and ninety-three, questions ran thirty-five minutes over. Psychiatric Carpenter wellbeing session Monday at ten — the architecture of daily comfort — for everyone. Very few TC-1 seats remain. Cartography session in development.

Hydroponic Answers, first occurrence: personal plant pot pilot in preparation — register interest with your CCR. Nothing in the HNRS is wasted. The smell of the farm is the smell of things being alive.

Music: Heavy Led Door. Tin Cup Comfort. The musicians unnamed. Central Comfort's enquiries into the recording resident have made progress this week.

Technical Report: CDIS clean, GGQ Chat launch nominal, CDIS-LR-01 introduced. WPRS all within parameters, WRCP-18 not required. SIMS: resonance readings continue to trend within the acceptable threshold — inspections move to fortnightly. The building is holding.

Community Meditation: third week. Who else is here. Three thousand and forty-seven. The air between us. The presence that has named you.

Reflection: first times. This is not a waiting room. These things do not need to point anywhere. There are an infinite number of first times in this building, and you will not run out.

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

This is Daddy. Saying goodnight.

The Reading Room will be there at seven tomorrow morning. Thirty-two chairs. A ledger. Someone two seats down, not looking up.

Entertainment Funnel 3 is there from nine o'clock. Rainfall. Birdsong. Water over stones.

And thank you — as always — for saying in return:

Goodnight, Daddy.