a thursday · still air, slight frost · the cook was up first
by half past five the kitchen lamp was on and the cook had pulled out the oranges. the building, otherwise, was as quiet as the building gets. a single child slept at the head of the back stair without anyone knowing, fully dressed, in a small coat.
the post had been done the day before. there would be no post today. a postcard from the lighthouse arrived at six, unstamped, slipped beneath the front door by a hand belonging to nobody in particular.
the kitchen warmed slowly. one candle at the corner table — the same one they light every year, much shorter than it used to be. the morning bell did not ring. the morning made its own sound instead.
— field note: there is a quality of stillness reserved for this morning, like a held breath about to be released into a song.
see also · hour 05 · hour 06 · the atmospheres · the log · frost