a wednesday · overcast, light wind · the baker was up first
nothing in particular happened. the baker had been up since four, the cook by five, the librarian by half past six. the kettle in the upstairs flat boiled three times before anyone drank from it. a small brown bird sat on the railing and was small and brown.
the post arrived at the usual time. one letter was for someone who no longer lived in the building. another was a bill that had been promised since august. a third was a postcard from a town nobody had heard of, the back of which had nothing written on it.
by nine the morning had become itself. a window on the second floor was opened, then closed, then opened again. the day continued politely. nothing wished to be remembered, which is the highest form of memory.
— field note: an ordinary morning is not the absence of event; it is event reduced to its smallest unit and distributed evenly.
see also · hour 06 · hour 08 · the atmospheres · the log · kitchen