March 2021
March 2nd
We report: we remember the words we spoke, the silences wrapped in the fog, we remember grasping at the moment of suspended vaporous colours, we have memories of walking in the long grass and mud, not so cold anymore, not that warm yet, the Sun in a hazy disposition, we, content.
March 1st
We report remnants of asperitas clouds formations; there were hints of a storm earlier, but it dissipated without much fuss. Those lighter shades of greys have been spreading out and evening out by increments as the atmospheric conditions have been stabilising.
March 4th
We report that we found the sea exactly where we were told it would be. It was quietly lapping against the shore, in a way that the tide seemed to never really go higher or lower; and so we stayed to find out, until we could not even really see where the waves met the sand.
March 3rd
We report that, at some point, someone decided to name clouds depending on their shapes and the type of precipitation that would fall from them, their colours, and how menacing or strange they looked. We rarely remember any of those names, but we appreciate the effort.
March 5th
We report: the Sun traced crenels in the heights of a floating bastion of the sky for a mere few seconds, until it was eclipsed by some clouds. We were there to watch that happen.
March 7th
We report: sometimes, the clouds in the sky layer up like sheets of sediments, telling stories of temperatures, instabilities, the travels of water and air; we read them as so and follow the tale until it ends.
March 6th
We report that the cold settled back in after a few mild days; we saw daffodils and listened to some bird songs that we had not heard in what feels like a disproportionately long amount of time, but in these parts, we know that the Winter should last a bit longer.
March 11th
We report that in some places, the blanket of snow is slowly thinning; the soil underneath is muddy, and parts of it are still frozen. The steps we take during our walks make different sounds, the sky looks bigger, the days are longer now.
March 8th
We report condensation trails accompanied by cirrocumulus. Much like, in water, droplets are found, in patches of cirrocumulus, cloudlets are found. We do not know how often the term is used, but we quite like that it exists in the first place.
March 9th
We report altocumulus standing lenticular clouds. Despite their serene appearance, our expert tells us that they may indicate strong winds in the vicinity of mountains; as they encounter the relief, the mountain waves rise up and clouds form perpendicularly to the airflow.
March 21st
We report: scattering particles are giving us the pleasure of witnessing sunbeams, sometimes called Jacob's Ladder. We do wonder at this particular name, as we do not quite see how one could use these rays as an elevating tool of any sort.
March 10th
We report: the fog swept in low and grazed the hills, a light touch on the grass. In the midst of diffuse darkness, it gave us the peace of mind that we needed to let everything blur together, and close our own bleary eyes. We will be there when the fog lifts.
March 12th
We report one more sunset; we are objectively aware that we will likely observe many of those in our lives, yet we feel our emotions grow exponentially with each one that we see. Though we cannot explain that phenomenon to ourselves, we appreciate the heartwarming quality of it.
March 13th
We report, today, as we were only able to catch dismally measurable glimpses of small chunks of the sky, we found ourselves longing for distant, boring afternoons spent with no other goals than watching the full span of the sky for unspecified periods of time.
March 14th
We report: the Moon is still nowhere to be seen. Artificial light is pouring into the clouds as the rain falls down and away, bringing in a chill-you-to-the-bone type of cold, although it is but a drizzle. We will postpone our stargazing plans.
March 15th
We report: we observed the way these clouds came rolling in, and after a long time watching, we got the eerie impression that we might have gotten swallowed by a strong wave, breathless as we lay in its underbelly, unable to move as we got crushed by its overwhelming current.
March 16th
We report that the day passed in a haze and a daze, and for most of it, we found ourselves unable to name the colour of the sky, as it was oscillating in between many shades of greys and pastels. Now waning, the light finally tints in some vibrance in the sky.
March 17th
We report: most of the rain froze before it reached the ground, but some of it did end up touching the earth. This is something that we are vividly aware of, as we ourselves were under these particular raindrops.
March 18th
We report, today, the sky felt like it was having an argument with itself, clouds passing by in frantic formations, half-torn through. It seemed like there was too much to say, not enough room for all the shapes and shades of grey, too slow and too fast of a day to speak it all.
March 19th
We report: some very thin and distant altocumulus, a big blue sky, and the Sun from somewhere behind us is bringing some notes of Spring into the air; there is very little wind today, and we are able to pick up the smell of the earth getting warmer.
March 20th
We report the large stroke of a brush getting caught in the light of a new day. We sometimes get thinking of the flavours of the colours we see, their textures, perhaps their smell, eager to witness the ephemeral quality of these moments through as many angles as possible.
March 22nd
We report: the strange lighting of strange hours reveals transparencies and textures that we had never really considered. The fabrics that make up the sky seem to become velvet and dark organza, draped and folded in layers over bottomless depths.
March 23rd - 3 AM
We report, sitting in places where people do not usually stray at night, we sometimes feel like the sky is ours and ours alone; it is, however, much more of a probability that we belong to the sky in those moments.
March 23rd - 6 AM
We report a bright, golden sunrise, today. However high or low the temperature actually is, we believe it to be impossible not to feel the warmth of a day that begins in such a light.
March 23rd - 9 AM
We report: this morning, the clouds were unwilling to stop clinging to the mountains. They swirled around the summits in slow circles and veiled the horizon long after the sun had risen, seemingly happy to lazily linger on.
March 23rd - 12 PM
We report that we watched this cloud bloom open like a flower, slow and big, expanding for miles and miles into the blue sky. We left our expert to it, as they seemed transfixed by the imperceptible outwards movement, and we had errands to run.
March 23rd - 3 PM
We report that the temperature dropped quickly with the oncoming rain as mountains built themselves in the sky. We quickened our pace in search of shelter, feeling like we were getting outrun by the weather. We got confirmation when the entirety of the sky dropped on our heads.
March 23rd - 6 PM
We report, barely out of the storm, the night dropped suddenly; we breathed in the smell of petrichor and listened for frogs in the nearby pond. The air lightened bit by bit when the wind started picking up.
March 23rd - 9 PM
We report: the Moon always looks much bigger when she is just above the horizon, as a result of a type of optical illusion. We are aware of this fact, and yet we will always want to let our expert know just how big she looks.
March 24th
We report: fibers of ice frayed and curled into the sky, and the smooth way they did it made us want to reach out and comb through them with our fingers, gather them up in our hands and feel the wind that was running through them.
March 25th
We report: what a peculiar thing it is to observe the fact that clouds keep on forming and deforming, day after day. We know for certain that, as younger individuals, we had no idea that clouds would simply keep on coming, and all be quite different from one another, at that.
March 26th
We report the slow delight of watching swathes of pink lightly deposit on those rare evening clouds. Our expert attempted to explain whatever there was to explain about this sky to us, but we were content to leave things be.
March 27th
We report navy blue clouds, but we know that there will not be any rain today, or at the very least, not in the next thirty minutes, or, maybe not in the next fifteen... We report that at this moment, we cannot confirm that it is raining, not where we are standing.
March 28th
We report: the light withered in the water, drowned in the presages of the storm. Long before any rainwater began to make its way down, the wind picked at the clouds and drew patterns in the sky. We did not stay too long to watch them.
March 29th
We report: night eats day, day eats night, but at times, they will meet peacefully and linger on, getting to know one another. In the end, one or the other will disappear, but during the moment we feel like we can contemplate the liminality of it all.
March 30th
We report a strange taste of summer hidden in the dry air and the long shadows, barely there, odd but somewhat enjoyable; perhaps it has been so long since last summer that we are willing to accept any old lukewarm ray of Sun for a sign of it. It is barely springtime, after all.
March 31st
We report: the blue sky, some cumulus humilis, and an admittedly lovely temperature as we observe all of those. We have been cataloguing all the blues that we see in the sky, and so far, all of them have been very blue.