a friday · grey overcast, no wind · the bellringer was up first
the morning was the colour of unbleached paper. by ten everyone had found a reason to be near a window. by quarter to eleven the bellringer had gone up the tower stair carrying a thermos and the small black notebook in which he writes the dates.
at eleven the bell did not ring. it never does, on this day. the silence that comes in its place is a particular one, with a shape. you can feel it leaning against the wall behind you.
two minutes. the kettle in the watchman's office was the only thing that did not know. it whistled through the last twenty seconds and was forgiven. by five past, the morning went on, slightly altered.
— field note: a silence that is not the absence of sound but a small object placed there deliberately, by many hands at once.
see also · hour 10 · hour 11 · the atmospheres · the log · silence