April 2021
April 2nd
We report, today, we took the time to notice the blues, and the greys, and the browns; our heels sinking into the muddy path that kept getting narrower though our destination was neither here nor there, and the drops of ink dissolving into the atmosphere.
April 1st
We report a thick layer of nimbostratus praecipitatio in the early morning, a bit after a polar air mass made the atmospheric pressure go for a dive. There has been a light but steady drizzle going on, although it seems to be starting to slow down.
April 4th
We report: this morning, there were colours that we would rather stay unnamed, for we suspect that it might have made them disappear in between nuances that we could not wrap our minds around. Who was to say, in the first few fistfuls of sunlight, what was periwinkle or peach?
April 3rd
We report places that are silent and peaceful, but certainly made out of their own fury and ecstasy all the same; it is just all wrapped in their distance and scale, fraught with shadows and ice.
April 5th
We report: there is a human ability to summon kinship to the strangest things; we do indeed find ourselves projecting our own mind onto clouds. The thought of the water cycle, the purpose of fulfilling that cycle, long journeys that always lead back to the sky.
April 7th
We report the nucleation of ice particles in the upper parts of the troposphere, leading to the apparition of cirrus uncinus; or, as we understand it, oh, look at those pretty ice clouds.
April 6th
We report that we woke up very early this morning, still caught in dreams, and fully intent on going back to sleep. We sleepily walked up to a window, and in those silent hours, the stars felt closer than usual to us, definitely out of reach, but seemingly just barely.
April 11th
We report: everything we know about the sky rewrites itself every hour. We could never fully capture the way clouds only ever give the best of themselves, the way light takes possession of these immense spaces; we always find ourselves tripping over the pragmatic chaos of it all.
April 8th
We report: the storm sky curled into itself, swallowing in its heart the wind, and the rain, and the electricity that was roaming along from high above. The sea was especially big and dark, mirroring the furious display.
April 9th
We report chilly mornings at 2°C, low winds but high humidity in the air; frozen fields, and low visibility at the horizon.
April 21st
We report a mammatus formation, which is a phenomenon that is yet to be fully explained and understood. We cannot say that we know more about them than any given person, but we certainly have a consequent admiration for them.
April 10th
We report the slow movement of some cumulus in a clear sky, unconcerned and peaceful; confident that they will reach their destination, wherever that may be.
April 12th
We report that the rain soaked us to the bones, and now that it has ceased, the wind that picked up is raking its icy fingers through our hair, crawling down our spines. We cannot remember how it feels to be warm, and we are fully aware of how dramatic we are being.
April 13th
We report: it is not that we do not know that the night always comes at the end of the day; that is a fact that almost everyone is expected to be aware of. We just get caught by surprise, sometimes. That less rarely happens when the day comes at the end of the night.
April 14th
We report that clouds always get the first rays of sunshine, and we do get absurdly jealous of that fact at times.
April 15th
We report: we feel a certain responsibility to be watching the sky as much as possible, just in case nobody else is watching, and a moment of grace goes unnoticed and unappreciated.
April 16th
We report that the sky holds immensities, but we also know about the tiny things that live there, the particles of dust and ice, and the smallest clouds that we sometimes barely even see. We ourselves in comparison are not too big either, and so we can relate.
April 17th
We report washed-out memories of celestial giants, the bright shadows of worlds so huge and numerous that we can hardly ever register their existence. The clouds tonight are just one more obstacle that stands in between us and those beacons that are millions of light-years away.
April 18th
We report: despite the fact that we have specific calendar dates for when Spring begins and when it ends, we know it to be something far more fickle. What is Spring, if not the combination of all seasons and then some rolled into one? As it happens, today felt more like Autumn.
April 19th
We report, on a windy evening, standing on a high hill and squinting against the dry air to catch sight of the slow colour gradient falling behind the horizon. The humidity is condensing in the cold and gripping some of the last lights.
April 20th
We report: certainly, there is something to say for the moment before a thunderstorm, just like there would be for the silence between music notes or the bit of blue that appears before sunrise.
April 22nd
We report two dashes across the sky crossing off in the middle; same place, different time, and in the end this differed encounter will simply fade away, dissolve and join all other long-gone paths.
April 23rd
We report a horseshoe cloud resulting from a horseshoe vortex. We have read up some on this rare phenomenon and have encountered concepts such as "vorticity", the "Kutta–Joukowski theorem", and "inviscid theory", which made us promptly turn away from the encyclopedia.
April 24th
We report a flurry of cirrocumulus lacunosus, unraveled fibers of ice flowing high and free in the wind.
April 25th
We report a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, in between the full glory of the sunset and the beginning of the night. Not that it was such an important moment that you really had to see it, but it happened, and you might have blinked, in which case you effectively missed it.
April 26th
We report: we found some blue in the sky, in the shadows of waterlogged clouds. It was not the blue that we were looking for, but we appreciated it all the same; we don't get to choose what the sky does.
April 27th
We report, on the coast somewhere: light north-east winds (8 to 11 knots) with moderate choppy seas, very small very short period waves (2 feet at 4 seconds). We are waiting for the tide to come in.
April 28th
We report sheets and sheets of altocumulus layered above and under one another, barely letting the light filter through, lingering on immovable and silent for what seems like an eternity of an afternoon.
April 29th
We report: early in the morning, we got wrapped into the fog as we walked into the water droplets suspended in the air. There were only birds around, as busy as we were idle, watching the light unfold by increments.
April 30th
We report a windy day with the lofty pursuits of big cumulus in a big sky. We saw some people put their laundry to dry in the breezy air, and we thought about telling them about the oncoming weather variations. We perhaps forgot about it later on.