July 2021
July 2nd
We report: the dawn came shrouded in darkness, barely more light then than there was in the middle of the night. There was dew on the blades of grass we looked at, and it mixed with rain and the dim light of a heavy sky.
July 1st
We report that we get warned against having our head in the clouds all too often. We think that should our head actually be in the clouds, we would have other types of pressing issues to attend to; and even then, we alone can make the decision of where our head should be.
July 4th
We report mountains all swallowed up by a sea of clouds. The waves are slow, quiet, and undemanding, and the world underneath it does not know much about the surface.
July 3rd
We report a fata Morgana over this horizon. Our expert tells us that this is a succession of mirages layered up one on top of the other; we barely had the time to get a good look at it before it got warped and eventually vanished into thin air. The tide came out.
July 5th
We report a glimpse into the far and the big. There was music in this silence and there were vivid colours in the white hot - warmth in the coldest, emptiest place. And we could not speak a word, though there were so many things we wanted to express.
July 7th
We report that we walked around the swallows that were grazing the ground, their flight low as though they could not bear the heavy air on their wings. It rained, sometimes drizzling and other times pouring, but still, the dark steely grey never seemed to leave the sky.
July 6th
We report: some days take their time, fair-weather clouds floating by on an infinitely slow schedule. The horizon is fairly crowded with other types of clouds, and yet, they never get any closer. The blue remains blue and the white remains white, at least until we look away.
July 11th
We report ribbons of light coming through the clouds. The day has been mostly dry and hot, but the sky darkened through the late afternoon, and now we are acutely aware of the smell of oncoming rain floating in the air.
July 8th
We report clouds dropping away; the light is diffuse and everything is catching colours and will not let them go. There is a lot that is compelling about being under this sky. The ground is wet from last night's rain, the air is crisp and shiny. We feel a shade of contentment.
July 9th
We report altocumulus lenticularis in the troposphere. Most clouds tend to dissipate or float away as we watch them, but lenticular clouds are stationary and ripple in the same spot for long periods of time; they may be seen in the morning and observed again in the evening.
July 21st
We report cloud-to-ground lightning as a stepped leader, which is a channel of negative charge, seems to have (and rather predictively, following its name) hit the ground and caused positive charge to flow upward at an astounding average of 27800 kilometers per second.
We also report that our expert likes throwing around arbitrary numbers without any sources, and thus without any credibility either.
July 10th
We report: the light turned blue between the walls of rain and dust marching in on the land. The wind rushed by our ears and whistled and groaned through buildings and trees; we walked back in a hurry. There are the storms to weather through, and the storms we take shelter from.
July 12th
We report: we are staring into deep blues that are more reminiscent of the abyss than the upper layers of the atmosphere. The sounds of a summer night and the mild breeze are keeping us aware of the solid ground underneath our feet. The ocean and the sky share many secrets.
July 13th
We report a buttermilk sky; cirrocumulus appearing with a warm front ahead. Our expert tells us that this might be a sign of rain as the cirrocumulus start thickening and sticking together. However, in the place where we are, rain tends to fall anyway, cirrocumulus or not.
July 14th
We report: there is a careful architecture to the steam that assembled itself in towers. It is one that rebuilds itself every second, bursting at the seams and folding in on itself at the same time; unable to support any weight lest it crumbles, yet tall enough to cast shadows.
July 15th
We report that we are standing with our back to the Sun, trying to take in the warmth on the nape of our neck while the poppies take on a fiery tint in its light. The weather has been utterly unpredictable these past few weeks, and so we aim to enjoy its daily whims.
July 16th
We report a strip of light westwards that tells us we might be missing something of whatever is going on above this layer of clouds; although we are quite content observing the show from down here.
July 17th
We report: the sand is still warm from the day, and the tide is not coming any higher on the beach. There is sticky salt on our lips, and in the fading light, we can almost hear the sound that each separate wave is making as it hits the shore.
July 18th
We report that today has brought on a sweltering heat that seems to seep into everything. On the way over to the place where we stand now, the air above the road kept warping; in the field, cicadas are singing their loudest. We keep wiping sweat and dust off our eyelashes.
July 19th
We report a waterspout, a columnar vortex over a large body of water. This one seems to be non-tornadic, and slow-moving. There is nothing to worry about, and we are not worried. Why would we be worried in a situation where there is no worry to have? That would be absurd.
July 20th
We report a circumzenithal arc, a photometeor that most frequently appears by the reflection and diffraction of the light through cirrus. The Sun should be between 15° and 25° of height in the sky for it to appear this clearly, but we do not have the tools to make sure. Sorry.
July 22nd
We report: we feel the complexity of Summer on days like these that get frayed at their edges, like piano chords that sway between sweet and harsh. The heavy air that gets pushed away by a light breeze, the hot asphalt that leads to fields of long grass drying under the Sun.
July 23rd
We report the glowing embers of a fire that we know is still burning somewhere, or at least we hope so. It would be rather sad to learn that the Sun had disappeared for once and for all as it passed the horizon. No, we are quite certain that we will see the Sun again tomorrow.
July 24th
We report: she is home to many dry seas, she glows silver and she is most easily seen during clear nights; we call her the Moon, and we only have one of them orbiting around our very own planet. We think she does her job very well.
July 25th
We report that the fog poured onto the hills and into the valley this morning; it kept the light entrapped in between water droplets for a long time. We saw it lift up slowly as the Sun grew brighter and warmer.
July 26th
We report: the clouds are big and wide and deep. We gaze upon the hills and hollows and imagine ourselves marching onto ephemeral lands. We dream of swimming into the white with only blue above us. We think about quiet immensities to be alone in. We wish and yearn with reverence.
July 27th
We report: these are the types of clouds that are overfull of rain, but moving fast enough that we always think we just might stay dry if they pass us by. This time, we will have to admit that we did not stay dry. No matter, summer rain can be nice to stand under.
July 28th
We report altocumulus stratiformis perlucidus, clouds that will make the sky look like the ice floe seen from space, which is a dizzying perspective that we quite appreciate.
July 29th
We report: another time when the Sun grazed the horizon and we stood by watching it skim the clouds, lighting them up from the inside; slow explosions of hot colours that are each time much different from anything we have ever seen.
July 30th
We report dark clouds at twilight that we knew for sure would keep us from seeing much of the stars tonight. The night came suddenly, heavy and definitive as a leaden coat, and soon a chill came in with the breeze.
July 31st
We report a Sun shower. We walked into the drops of light, hoping to catch them and save them for someday else. We love the rain so very much, and how is it that we love it that much more when it is bathed in sunlight? We felt endeared to the sweetness of the moment.