Omen of the day
The same word in two weathers
A drawer and a dream, miles and a night apart, strike one note the writer does not remember choosing. Distance does not cancel a shared pitch.
Omen of the day
Today’s omen
Omen of the day
A rent in the ordinary cloth
For a breath the ordinary thins, and a face shows through that does not have time to pretend it is a neighbour. The cloth closes; the eye keeps the seam.
Omen of the day
The crack that already knew tomorrow
The plan splits along a tomorrow that was already in the wood, not along the place the hand slipped. The road you drew was paint on an older crack.
Omen of the day
A sign that will not haggle
The clock stops on a name nobody invited into the room. This sign does not haggle: the bird has already taken the fence, and the fence knows.
Omen of the day
Lightning on a clear roof
Clarity arrives too sharp to carry in a pocket. Ordinary light returns, and a thing sits on the table that was not there before the flash.
Omen of the day
Weather that walks the rooms
Outside is still, and inside a wind is counting the rooms. Sleep breaks, the crockery does not move, and the air is crowded with guests who have no coats.
Omen of the day
The day the hinge decides
Today the hinge chooses which way the door will lean for the rest of the year. What bends now is the shape the wood will remember in winter.
Omen of the day
The sundial took the day off
The dial throws nothing on the wall, and the yard looks too clean. The quiet is not empty; it is the message that the signs have clocked out.
Omen of the day
The blue hour with a witness
Between the two lights a thing is visible only to someone who is standing in neither day nor night. It does not last long enough to be told properly at supper.
Omen of the day
The doorway keeps its own draught
The doorway breathes on its own, not from the street. A guest, a decision, or a draught with a mind of its own is already on the wood, and the bell has not struck.
Omen of the day
A name left in the cup
A name arrives by water: rain on the sill, a bend in the river, a cup left out overnight. The mouth did not call it, and the bottom of the vessel already keeps it.
Omen of the day
The bed made for no one on the list
The house makes a bed for a guest the book does not list. The chair stays strange, the loaf is cut in two, and the door waits for a step the register will not own.