a sunday · the storm broke at 04:40 · the watchman was up
the storm arrived earlier than the forecast, which had said dawn. the watchman was on the third floor when the first flash made an entire room of the sky and put it away again. he wrote down the time in the book and underlined it twice.
by six the rain had redoubled and the gutters on the river side were failing politely. a window in the linen room, which nobody had touched in years, rattled itself open. the cat that lived in the laundry came down the back stair and would not be told.
the morning prayer was said early, in the corridor, with the lamps on at the wrong hour. a dog two streets over barked once for each thunder. no one slept again until eight.
— field note: the building's old timbers remember storms; you can hear it in the joists. they sing a different song when the wind is from the southeast.
see also · hour 04 · hour 05 · the atmospheres · the log · rain