stick As I write this thunder opens a crack in the sky over the south-west of the city. The top half of my head prickles and I am (I am wicked, I am evil) charged by the force of electrons, turbulent air, rain. Water falls as if from an upturned vessel, directly over the city. We (the we of us who live here together) haven't cleaned the autumn leaves from the gutters so the rain comes inside. At once humbled and energised, there is a frantic scramble to lay bath towels at the gaps between doors and floor and to video the event (flood) for the land agent, and the event (first thunder storm) for the oblivious new born child: cipher of futurity.