February 2022
February 2nd
We report: we looked at the sunrise on the ceiling today, a new way to watch the sky change (as though we needed one). The angle of the rays kept shifting slowly on the white paint, a lesson in geometry that our mind was too sleepy to even begin to acknowledge.
February 1st
We report: we have fully entered nighttime, and the wind is digging its icy fingers everywhere. There is just a small window of daylight remaining, West of where we stand. Looking out into it, it seems like a whole different day hidden above the clouds.
February 4th
We report a circumzenithal arc, a swipe of rainbow far above the Sun; these occur thanks to some flat and hexagonal ice crystals in the highest parts of the troposphere. Unlike our usual rainbows, their colours start with blue and end with red. Also, they look like smiles.
February 3rd
We report a rain that clings onto the clouds - just enough drops here and there that it smells like it is raining. We are sitting on a wet wooden bench, dressed for warmer (drier) weather, firmly determined to pretend that this is what we wanted all along.
February 5th
We report: long before we were born, long before any sunset was painted, and a long time before anyone ever sat down to watch a rising sun - there had to be this emotion already, somehow. Someone somewhere had to have that feeling that occurs when something begins and ends.
February 7th
We report: many people talk about bringing the Moon back to other people, but we take offence to that concept. The Moon looks great where it is and we would feel terrible should she be taken away. This is a Public Service Announcement: please, do not steal the Moon.
February 6th
We report: nights are getting shorter, but everything is growing colder still. And we think, back then, when the first snow fell, silence fell there along with it; the earth froze over and has been asleep ever since. We forgot where we were going, if there was somewhere to go.
February 11th
We report: a sky bright and blue with only a handful of clouds; our first sunburn of the year. The cold wind that kept our cheeks red throughout the day made us forget about the Sun.
February 8th
We report, today again, a new sky. We do wonder, sometimes, looking at the sky - have we seen this before, is this really the first time we are seeing this cloud? But of course, whatever happens, each time we look up (every few minutes, every few seconds), we see a different sky.
February 9th
We report: we have walked in mud for most of the day, the wet earth grabbing our feet with each step as though with the intent to swallow us whole. We have rain in our eyes, our pockets are also full of rainwater, and it keeps on falling. We think we might never get dry again.
February 21st
We report: it always feels a little bit wrong, watching the sea from a distance. It feels like we should come closer, to the beach, and then once we are on the beach, it feels like we should get even closer, maybe walk into it. A bit too cold for that, today, though.
February 10th
We report, with every bit of yellow sunlight, we get caught up in all the golden hours we have experienced before. The golden hour; a moment frozen in time, a suspension of something sweet, a complete abstraction that makes everything so different and familiar at the same time.
February 12th
We report a purple haze in the sky. It is hard to tell if the scattered lilac hue is coming from above or below the clouds, but everything around us has turned purple too, and it is like a dream. Not a bad one, not a good one either, but it feels like an invention of our mind.
February 13th
We report: it has been winter for long enough that we had forgotten about the existence of fireflies. Tonight though, as we stand at the edge of the city, watching the lights turn off one by one, we are thinking about them.
February 14th
We report rain again today. There is something strange about the rain, that before it falls, it is just a cloud, and once it has fallen, it is just water. Rain is only ever really rain as it falls; a short-lived existence, always in motion from its beginning to its end.
February 15th
We came out of the woods to see the sky split in two, and to feel the wind rise up, moving Eastwards. Along with it, the heavy blanket of clouds advanced further, casting dark shadows onto the countryside. We followed it through the windbreaks until it dissipated.
February 16th
We report: today, we have lived many days. The sky has cycled through every season, and we with it. The fog, the Sun, the rain and the hail, and then the Sun again after that, and only the wet soil left to prove everything that came before. It is a good day to be alive.
February 17th
We report that, if indeed the Moon is a piece of the Earth that was torn off and projected into space, then it makes sense that we would feel kinship looking at her. A little piece of home, a few hundred thousand miles away from home.
February 18th
We report: a green hill on a winter day reminds us that Spring is not too far ahead, and in the wind that keeps folding the grass we found something that we remember. This is not it yet, just a whisper, a rumour that will build - but this is what time is like, insidious.
February 19th
We report: this is a sky to put you to sleep. Everything all horizontal and stretched out, the colours blurred into one another. Make a place for yourself in the sky, in between the clouds, so you can rest, so you can close your eyes and sleep; this is for you, just like this.
February 20th
We report today: we did not think we were the type of person who collects things. We lose interest rather quickly, five seashells, ten pretty rocks, and scattered postcards in drawers. It turns out, though, we have been building a rather extensive cloud collection (in our mind).
February 22nd
We report, as we were observing the rain catching on fire in the sunlight, we noticed something changing; perhaps it was the wind that carried different smells than usual, or maybe the temperature, or the blackbird that we heard after a long time. We do wonder what it was.
February 23rd
We report: February, so short and so long at the same time - shorter by the number of days, longer by the amount of sunlight growing every day. This day ended with a flourish, something of a blossom in the sky.
February 24th
We report, in the blue sky, our Earth's best traveler in the form of this little cloud. We cannot help but feel compassion for the long way here and ahead, and though water never really arrives anywhere, never really finds an end to its journey, we wish it safe travels.
February 25th
We report: the earthshine on the Moon makes it look like someone tried to shine the Moon with a rag, as one would do with silverware - and then gave up on the way. Every night they will give up a little bit earlier, until the new Moon. Everyone deserves a break, after all.
February 26th
We report a salty kind of day. We know we will taste salt on our lips for days after going near the ocean; and we will also find sand in our shoes, too, even in the pairs we did not wear to the beach. Is it we who cling to the sea, or is it the ocean following us everywhere?
February 27th
We report the kind of Sun we can bear to look at, half-hidden, timid, small, on a cold morning. We remember the summer Sun, big, white-hot, heavy. Some days we miss it, even its inescapable heat. Today, though, this is enough and even better, something to match our soul.
February 28th
We report: we are somewhere where there is sky below and sky above, and the weather is a lot harder to determine in these conditions. Is it cloudy? Yes, yes indeed, below us is a sea of clouds as far as the eye can see - is it sunny? Well, yes, that as well, actually.