The Piano and the Wind

From the upper left-hand corner of my apartment three piano chords repeat themselves again and again. They're long and extended, and every four seconds there's a crescendo, but there isn't a piano; it's just the wind.

Outside, the rain is falling sideways; the sky is white. The temperature rose 15 degrees during the night and this morning Katherine said, the trees seem angry, Mommy, and Penelope nodded.

Maybe they're trying to blow the rain away, I offered.

Instead, they blow the tarp off of a trashcan and garbage skitters down the street. The piano begins its crescendo.

Decrescendo.

Crescendo. Crescendo.