My Barometer

Sat in a house (or on a screened-in porch) obediently expanding and contracting. That evening it really contracted, squeezing itself past any previous mark. It wondered as the pressure dropped and dropped whether this would be the end, the cataclysmic Big Crunch, lately thought impossible as the universe appears flat--that is, destined to slowly dissolve like a soap bubble into lonely hydrogen molecules.

So it sat there, squeezing and tightening under the steadily dropping pressure. It was an existential barometer, functioning even though there was no one to witness, following the laws of physics. Outside and all around the winds screamed like hundreds of spectres wailing in distress. As its coils were taunt, the water came. At first it was a small trickle, hardly noticeable. Then it became more insistent, pressing the walls around with its own pressure. Finally the waves came in, relaxing the coils with their relative coolness, freeing the faithful instrument from further witness of destruction.

My barometer floated out and headed for a new home.