After the turbulence of the night, the day quieted and quieted and the air thicked and thicked. I had headlamps on at five.
This has become disturbing. In the garden the trees are silent, the reeds in the pond entirely stationary. I watched the leaves not moving, and then I watched and watched the leaves not moving some more. The air sat heavily upon us.
By the sea, there is only a continuing flat calm, with the last remnants of last night’s surf slopping glutinously onto the sand. Along the cliff top, every tall head of grass stands paralysed.
Perhaps it is earthquake weather. Perhaps the sky will fall. Or in the SF scenario, perhaps alien forces have placed a dome over us and annihilated the rest of the planet.
Calling the world: Is there anybody there?