snore

 There is the ticking of the wall clock in the upstairs room, in the darkness of the early morning today. The windows are open, for despite the earlier rain showers the night is still warm. The clock has a three-quarter second pendulum, and of course its ticking noise is in that frequency. But ever so slightly syncopated, there are other noises outside, the regular noises of the neighbours asleep, all with their windows open. The town is a dormitory, a land of snores, at four in the morning. Especially to the rear of all the houses, with all of the  mews and craftsman's workshops with their nooks and crannies the enhance sound's travel between the houses.

It has become hard to sleep in the morning, despite the peace that is Sunday.