January 2022
January 2nd
We report a cumulonimbus with snow praecipitatio. According to our expert, the word "praecipitatio" is Latin for "I fall". We were unaware of the fact that our expert knows any manner of Latin, and we will be fact-checking this claim.
January 1st
We report the Sun, right there, behind this cloud. It is the first time we have seen it this year, and it is just as we remember it (very bright). The temperature is quite high for a winter day, and there is just a little bit of a breeze going on.
January 4th
We report, for a few minutes, the whole world drenched in golden light, the Sun on our face. After a long night, after a good rest; there is a lot to do today, but we feel like we might be able to do it all. And even if we do not, there will be tomorrow still. One step at a time.
January 3rd
We report: we are still early into Winter, but we can already see the Sun setting just a little bit later. Tomorrow, Earth will be at its closest to the Sun, a phenomenon that we call "perihelion". We are quite certain that we will not be noticing any difference down here.
January 5th
We report: we can not count how many times either we or our expert have called "rainbow!" and eagerly pointed at the sky as though it would immediately disappear if we looked away. It is hard to even blink in the presence of rainbows.
January 7th
We report: it has started snowing midday and it has not stopped since then. Even so, the layer of snow on the ground is still rather thin and patchy in some spots, maybe on account of the hail of this morning. The night is quiet.
January 6th
We report that throughout the day, we wondered whether the morning fog had never completely lifted, or whether the evening mist had settled in early. The paths were marshy from the constant rain of the past weeks, and the humidity had the cold sharp and clingy.
January 11th
We report: in the sky, long icy threads unspooled, glistening in the sunlight. Cirrus fibratus occur at high altitudes, typically over 6000 metres, when dry air rises towards the top of the troposphere. The way they are all spread out might mean a change of weather, though.
January 8th
We report cold high pressure building up to a strong cold front. The winds are going North by NorthEast, 5 to 10 knots. The way we see and feel it, all in all, it is pretty cold, and we are getting ready to go back home.
January 9th
We report: after a storm that lasted for hours, we find ourselves noticing the sudden lightness in the air. It is already late, but we can still hear some birds, and it almost feels like a different day now.
January 21st
We report: the sun rose from behind the horizon, and then, later on, from behind the clouds. We feel very good about having witnessed two sunrises today, and we will carry the sentiment with us through the day.
January 10th
We report a day for clouds. In the place where we are today, the sky stays grey for most of the season. This could be a synonym of monotony, but there are subtle changes; the way the light manages to pierce through the clouds at times, the blue and purple undertones in the grey.
January 12th
We report a drizzly evening, the sort of rain that is halfway through a mist - it is not so much falling as we are walking into it, and the droplets catch onto our hair and eyelashes. A silent rain, yet our socks are soaked through and our clothes stick to our skin.
January 13th
We report: the sunrise after we failed to get any sleep last night. As much as we love sunrises, as much as we crave seeing them, they feel treacherous after sleepless nights. Colourful reminder of the tosses and turns of the night that just ended, the defeat of an insomniac.
January 14th
We report wet charcoal clouds smeared across the sky. The sky is heavy as can be, and the whole world around us is dark as though the night could fall at any moment. We are waiting for the rain.
January 15th
We report: the faint artificial glow from the lights of the nearby town has flooded the sky, reflected by the thick blanket of snow on the ground. The roads are blocked off; we heard a bird take off from a tree, and the sound echoed in our ears for what felt like minutes.
January 16th
We report a pileus cloud accessory that we were lucky enough to see, as it is bound to disappear quite quickly. Pileus clouds tend to form on days when thunderstorms occur, due to air displacements and changes in temperatures; we think that they are excellent accessories.
January 17th
We report: it is freezing out today. We went back in after a short walk before the sunrise, and our fingers are burning as they are thawing out. We can see the colours in the sky getting brighter and louder while everything down here is still dark and calm.
December 18th
We report cumulus congestus quietly passing through. They keep expanding upwards and outwards, whether we are looking or not, and we are quite admirative of that spirit.
January 19th
We report: out of this cumulonimbus, we saw one single lightning bolt come out, followed several seconds after by thunder. After this, the sky stayed dark and still for hours, but the thunder stayed, crackling and grumbling from deep within the sky for so long that we got used to it.
January 20th
We report the Moon, once more, with a different face tonight. This once, we were not looking for the Moon. The sky was too cloudy to hope to see her or any stars, but we got up in the middle of the night to a house flooded with moonlight.
January 22nd
We report: the birds, in and of a wave that never crashes. We are trying to decipher what they are whispering about through the flutter of their wings; the birds, all the birds, like one bird, here and gone again.
January 23rd
We report a little bit of blue in this cloudy sky. Some twenty years ago, there were a few months when the average colour of the universe was thought to be a pale turquoise. This was the result of a mistake, but we do like to think that the colour of our universe is blue indeed.
January 24th
We report this habit we have; at night, when we walk by a window, we always go up to it and press our face against the glass. We stay there long enough to figure out if we can see any stars in the sky, and if we can, we cannot help but stay there and forget about time.
January 25th
We report a storm system in the sunset light. It is hard to say whether we can feel any change in the air that could announce a thunderstorm - it is too cold for that kind of subtlety. We are rushing home either way; with the sun going down, chances are it will get even colder.
January 26th
We report: the motion of the rain, slower in the distance than we ever see it up close. Judging by the wind direction at the moment, we are pretty sure that these clouds are coming our way, and fast at that. The sky is getting darker by the minute.
January 27th
We report what our expert calls cirrus homogenitus, and what we call contrails. We know that there are always many planes flying over our heads in a day, but it is always surprising to see just how many split the sky when these contrails stay in the sky for longer than usual.
January 28th
We report: in the valley, fog will fall and stay for days on end. The sky is opaque and the lowest it can be; as we walk side by side with our expert, we are hesitant to speak louder than a whisper, even though there is no wind to carry our words.
January 29th
We report: daybreak at sea, the gulls are eating breakfast under the first rays of sunshine of the morning. It rained through the night, and even here where the air is always humid, we can feel a difference now that the clouds are parting.
January 30th
We report no bad clouds, ever. Sure, some are less common than others, some are higher, bigger; but we look at the sky and we think all clouds are good and worth looking at. The fact that we spend most of our days looking at clouds does not make our opinion biased.
January 31st
We report some cirrus in an otherwise big blue sky. We have heard from our expert that this might result from a rise on the synoptic scale. The truth is that we are now getting a crick in our neck, and we are no closer to understanding what this means.