The current weather

Day 904. Night. Barometer is sitting at 29.7 in and dropping. Fast. The air is heavy, the kind of oppressive humidity that makes the paper in this notebook curl at the edges, and the wind has picked up from the east, rattling the corrugated iron on the shack like a nervous bird. There’s a storm coming off the channel. Kevin is sleeping—always so sound—while I’m sitting here by the kerosene lamp trying to finish the leaf structure on the *Piperaceae* specimen I found near the ridge today. The venation is erratic, unlike anything in the journals. I keep thinking about the tin of seeds on the shelf. If the storm breaches the roof or if the salt spray gets in, grandmother’s legacy is gone. I haven't planted them yet. I can't. What if the soil pH is wrong? The wind just howled through the grove. It sounded like something breaking. I need to check the shutters again. If the pressure drops another point, we'll be soaked by dawn. My sketches are blurring anyway. The rain is coming. I'm tired of the damp, but I need to see what the island does when the clouds clears.