June 2022
June 2nd
We report: it is June, now, a foot still in Spring, and the other one already in Summer. There are all sorts of bugs flying around, butterflies and bumblebees zooming past us every time we step outside, and the days are long, long, ending almost as a mere afterthought.
June 1st
We report a late afternoon spent looking at the sunlight crashing against the waves. It is another type of blue out here, not much more tangible than the blue of the sky, no less deep, but its call sounds different.
June 4th
We report: before we fall asleep, we always picture something like this, the darkness sweeping in, cold, slow, and quiet. And in our dreams, if we are ever visited by stars, then it is a good night - in the fabric of the night sky, to see pinholes of light, a good night indeed.
June 3rd
We report a storm, oncoming lightning, and rolling thunder somewhere. It is moving towards us, and there is nothing we can do to predict where lightning will strike exactly, but we have decided that we want no part in this. We are not staying for the rain.
June 5th
We report strange days, unpredictable weather. Our expert tells us about high temperatures and cloudless skies, and it rains all day long - and today, there was supposed to be fog in the morning, and showers, and thunder, even. But here we are, this is the cloudiest it got.
June 7th
We report rains heavy enough to drag the clouds down with them, and loud enough that we struggle to make conversation with our expert. There is not much wind; we are pulling the hood of our raincoat low over our head, which is making it hard to look up to the dark skies.
June 6th
We report: there were towering clouds here, earlier, taller than all of the buildings of the city piled up on top of one another. Over the course of the afternoon, though, with the wind flowing up and around them: it was like a river polishing pebbles, mountains becoming hills.
June 11th
We report: this was a hot day, the beach's sand burning the sole of our feet with the heat of the high sun. Slowly, though, a few clouds came in from the horizon, and the temperature started dropping. The sky is now heavy with yet-to-fall rain, and the wind is rising.
June 8th
We report: parts of the universe that we can only ever see at night (during a clear night, to be perfectly precise), spilled out onto a dark velvet sky, and with a little bit of a breeze, we almost think we can hear some chimes in the deep.
November 9th
We report that today, the darkness came early as clouds had been pooling low in the sky all day - they started dissipating in the dry and cold evening air. The night feels slow and peaceful.
June 21st
We report: today is as long of a day as it gets on this hemisphere of our planet (and then, as short of a night, too). We contemplate this fact with the knowledge that it does not change much about our day, but we still think that we can feel it somehow.
June 10th
We report TONIGHT... Northwest wind 10 to 20 knots easing to 10 knots after midnight. Wind waves 1 to 3 feet subsiding to 1 foot or less after midnight. Southwest swell 5 feet at 10 seconds. Patchy fog on the ground. A slight chance of rain.
June 12th
We report a golden afternoon, the scent of warm, dry grass in the air, and a naked sky. There are clouds of dust floating above the paths. We are carrying a bag of apricots with us, and we are looking for a spot where we could sit and share them.
June 13th
We report: it was a rather small hour in the morning still when the sky started to lighten, drops of light spreading through the clouds like watercolours. We were eager to catch a little bit more sleep after sunrise, and we kept dozing off as the birds chirped louder and louder.
June 14th
We report a particular day of summer, one when the sky went through all shades of blue, and the clouds were kind enough to let us see them. Now, we are witnessing the lightest shade of the day, the blue fading away entirely as we take it in.
June 15th
We report: in the long parts of long days, grey clouds that curl at their edges are like moments frozen in time; no wind today. We are wondering if this is it: nothing will ever change again. This is the sky, forever like this, now (and then comes a breeze).
June 16th
We report, on this day of June; we left our laundry to dry outside overnight, and when we retrieved it during the afternoon, it was warm and smelled like sunshine. Our expert got cobwebs in their hair while trying to grab the bedsheets. The clouds kept growing apart.
June 17th
We report: we opened the window to watch the sunset, and the light in the kitchen lured in some moths. It is a calm evening; lately, by the time the sun disappears behind the hills, most people have long been home.
June 18th
We report a few gleams of sunshine, nothing like the blaze that we have had lately but just this, a little bit of golden light raining down through thick layers of clouds. Soon it will rain water again - much needed during this dry season, but we are not forgotten by the sun.
June 19th
We report: a darkness, something of an immanence, most of everything and all of nothing too. During the night, when time stretches and there is no sleep to be found (and no sun), we think we can almost touch a soul in the stars - but perhaps we are simply sleep-deprived.
June 20th
We report a thunderstorm that skirted around the town. We counted the seconds between lightning and thunder on our fingers, trying to do the maths to determine how close the storm was, until there was no lightning. Then, the thunder too boiled down to a low rumble in the distance.
June 22nd
We report: we are taking notes on the colour stages of a sunset. We have gone through yellow and orange, so far, and if our previous observations hold any truth, we are heading towards pink and purple. Good, solid colours (no green or cyan, so far, but we are holding out).
June 23rd
We report noctilucent clouds, the highest clouds in Earth's atmosphere. Their altitudes may vary between 76 and 85 km, and our expert tells us that the Kármán line, where space begins, is 100 km above sea level. These clouds are catching the light that we are not seeing anymore.
June 24th
We report: it is morning, though it is hard to tell how high the sun has gotten. There is no wind to speak of; this wall of clouds is closing in on us at a slow pace, and the tide is coming in the same movement. The world is waking up through heavy eyelids.
June 25th
We report a great big sky with cirrus sprawling across the whole of it. The air is light, just a little bit humid from recent rain. Today is colder than the weather we have been having lately (also due to recent rain), something of a last spring day in our summer's beginning.
June 26th
We report: we have been taking evening walks, lately. We have been seeing wheat fields coming into maturity, with crickets chirping between the stems. There is an unmistakable smell that speaks of warm days even as they cool down in the evening, of dry soil and growing grains.
June 27th
We report, last night: all of the lights went out, and for a few minutes, we were in absolute darkness, stumbling on our own feet with every step we took. At some point, though, we started noticing stars, and then we could not stop noticing them, even through the clouds.
June 28th
We report a windy day with frequent showers and braided clouds. We found cover under a leaky gutter pipe and we are trying to stay clear of the rivulets of rainwater that keep splashing our shoulders. The cars seem to be driving into puddles on purpose. This is a good day.
June 29th
We report, today: our expert swore to us that they had seen these clouds before, that they remembered these exact shapes. We argued over the truth of this statement for a long time, but they maintained that they were not lying. The truth will never be known.
June 30th
We report: this was a sleepless night, an unintentional one. We tried going to sleep, but we lay down and our heart felt too heavy, made us sink too far into the bed, and kept us awake. When we finally managed to get back up, the sun was just rising behind blue clouds.