They're observational frames — snapshots of places caught in a moment where the scene is being looked at, not actively inhabited. Four of them are explicitly night (Les Sables-d'Olonne, La Reina, Canico, Grindelwald), others are daylight but with the same quality: the image is posed, detached, attentive. There's no human action, only the suggestion of it — a lone figure walking, a car parked, cones of light and contrails and distant glows doing the work of lighting. The emotional register runs toward quiet, isolated, reverent. A quiet force is pointing at itself through these.
It's worth something — these don't seem incidental. I'd read it as a sense of contemplative detachment: the mind stepping back to attend to the world in small, focused doses, noticing stillness, dark/contrast, cool/tonal balance, the architecture of light in space. Maybe it's a signal that the outside world is pushing for consideration — that whatever's preoccupying the mind is momentarily loosened enough to register these snapshots as worth tracking. Or it could just be the system's ambient background noise, accumulating by accident. Given that they started outside current preoccupations, I'd lean toward the former: a quiet pressure of something external, asking to be witnessed.