June 2023
June 2nd
We report bright skies in the month of June, late, late in the day. We look at the time, and we have difficulties reconciling it with the colour of the sky. We take the longest path everywhere, and we get there late. We get sleepy when the sun is still high. June.
June 1st
We report: a breeze and a cloudy sky, but the temperature is nice and pleasant even without a jacket. This morning, when the sky was clear, we got a sunburn on the nose - and blisters on our feet. Wild carrots are blooming everywhere. It smells like Summer.
June 4th
We report great news on this day: the waves are functioning at an excellent height and speed, while the wind is blowing well and strong. The full moon is causing a beautiful high tide that is reaching up into rivers. The blues are very blue, and the sun is very bright.
June 3rd
We report: now the trees are full of leaves and we hear them a lot more - all year long the creaks and the whines, but with leaves: whispers and sighs and the embraces between the crowns of the trees. The sun sets and the sounds stand out so much more.
June 5th
We report: it smells warm, and the afternoon is long. When the weather changes, the sky looks big and wild; the rain crushes the air until something emerges from the earth, and the dust quickly dissolves into mud. Things will be different after the storm rolls over.
June 7th
We report: we call out for our expert to join us and watch the sunset, and they rush out, shoelaces half-undone as though there is not a second to lose. True, that; not a second to lose when there is never a second to gain. Only so much time - might as well watch the sunset.
June 6th
We report about a roof with holes poked into it, and about the light that patiently leaks through the holes. Underneath where it is dark and cold, this is a light that is precious and lovely, the witness of every sleepless night, slowly blinking in the deepest darkest void.
June 11th
We report: we thought it would be cold when we stepped outside this morning - the colours in the sky looked cold. We bundled up and braced for the wind that we could see swaying the trees through the window, but the air felt just short of lukewarm, only a little bit humid.
June 8th
We report the weather, teetering on the edge between other types of weather, just like it always, always is. Now, June, more unpredictable than it is ever given credit for, more capricious; warm, but in a fragile way. The clouds clump together and then dissipate in the wind.
June 9th
We report: the wind is coming from a strange direction (we did not know the wind could come from there, really) and the air is warm and humid, a combination of elements that makes us feel some type of way about how the weather will turn out today. The sky looks eerie.
June 21st
We report: this time around, we made assumptions based on the way the sky looked, and how we smelled some rain and the birds were flying low; we were, however, incredibly wrong, and our expert laughed at us for a long time when our predictions did not come true.
June 10th
We report in the early moments of the night, when birdsong is giving way to the high-pitched sounds of the bats. The sky is slowly getting to its darkest point and the stars are getting brighter in contrast. We are getting to the loudest nights of the year - sound and light.
June 12th
We report about sometimes when the sky is clear but there are clouds of many different shapes, and it is warm with a little breeze, and you are able to sit there in that place and moment, and it feels like - your existence begins and ends here. Everything else distant and blurry.
June 13th
We report: this was the muggiest of muggy days, and we spent it sweating profusely and wishing for some rain, for something to come and release the tension. The lightning struck right there when it came, and when the thunder cracked, it rolled like a drum, relentless.
June 14th
We report about the long days of early summer and how they start, moments when we think it should still be dark. The light sneaks into the bedroom, and we have a hard time keeping our eyes closed. The daylight is nagging us and we are thoroughly annoyed.
June 15th
We report: the heat is only now lifting from the city. There was a breeze all day, but it mattered very little when we were standing right underneath the bright June sun. We had forgotten how it feels, the warm air while the sun sets, the crickets, and the dark light.
June 16th
We report about the pale blue sky and the long pale clouds that travel across it at a slow, slow pace. It is late afternoon, the sky is full of dust that clings to the horizon, the air is dry, ashy, and very still. Our expert has ditched their jacket for the first time this year.
June 17th
We report: a supercell, layers upon layers of cloud in a cloud on top of other, different clouds, forming altogether a rather ominous shape looming over us in the sky. The humidity that has been steadily permeating the air is now reaching a maximal point of saturation. A storm.
June 18th
We report about this evening, when our expert drove and drove while keeping the sunset on their right; when we got to a place where the horizon was far and flat, the sun had already come past it. The world was already dark, and the sky quietly lost colour after colour.
June 19th
We report: a hazy golden morning, suddenly rather cold after a couple of hot weeks. We are trying to figure out whether the water drops on the grass are rain or morning dew, but the air feels especially damp, clean. The sky is sweet and busy; it will perhaps clear out.
June 20th
We report in the aftermath of this sky: there was some rain and thunder, a lot of those. In the in-between, the air got muggy, hard to breathe. We knew what would happen, and it happened exactly the way we predicted it; we feel a sense of pride, but nobody was there to see it.
June 22nd
We report after a long day full of rain - the likes of which comes after a hot week, and crushes the heat with all it has, leaving the air crisp and damp. The last clouds have dissolved into the stars, and the sky is clear and dark; the roofs are still dripping with rain.
June 23rd
We report: from where we sit, this is a small cloud, barely bigger than the tip of a finger when we extend our hand far in front of us. But we know it to be far bigger and taller than we can really imagine, and this big wide expense of steam catching the light like so - a wonder.
June 24th
We report about the blue shadows of dark trees; long did we try to escape the heat today, and even under the leaves, the light that filtered through was strong and hot. The sky above shines clear blue, and the sunshine clings to every last bit of us long after we go home.
June 25th
We report: the storm is slowly moving away. It is summer, only the middle of the afternoon, yet the light is a sunset yellow. The heavy clouds are scattering all of the shorter wavelengths on the visible light spectrum, which leaves us with the other end of that spectrum.
June 26th
We report the moon's first quarter, a phase that looks like half a wink, a little bit sideways. Phases like this one, when the swell of the moon is so clear, we think of another corner of the world where it leans the exact opposite way. The same satellite, seen upside down.
June 27th
We report: very hot today, so that at this late hour, the ground radiates heat though the sun is already low. Our expert, too, radiates heat, and we wonder when their skin got darker (today? No, over the course of this month, little by little every day). The sky is so big.
June 28th
We report about the water, the water, the water, the sun, and the nothing on the horizon. We are somewhere in the middle of the ocean, where there is nothing but more water everywhere we look. Beneath us, the waves and the reflected sky, and then a bottomless blue.
June 29th
We report: when we think about summer from the other end of the year, we remember more of the storms of August than the ones in June. The storms in June are like warm-ups, the lightning and thunder are stutters. The wind picks up and it sounds like "Is it time yet? Is it time?"
June 30th
We report, after the rain has stopped, we go through the undergrowth and the smell of the honeysuckle is blooming. We get mud on our socks from the puddles that have gotten deeper; a gust of wind rustles the leaves and we get a big raindrop in our eye. The trees sound peaceful.