December 2020
May 2nd
We report, around nightfall after a warm spring day, the air smells like dry earth and pollen. We are getting our first mosquito bites, sitting on a bench by a pond in which many frogs are singing. The clouds are slowly filling up the sky - we can still see some of the moonlight.
May 1st
We report: it is always a privilege to catch a sunset in its entirety. We usually get a glimpse, sometimes a flash of some rare colours. Tonight, when we saw the clear sky, we turned to the West and we were lucky enough that the sun decided to set there and then.
May 4th
We report the rain of May; the day warm and the sky blue until clouds came, and the temperature abruptly dropped. The trail was already muddy, and the puddles were full, so the rain ran down the slope, a full stream down the middle of the path. Our expert was wearing a T-shirt.
May 3rd
We report: this year again flowers bloom, maybe even more than last year. We remember saying something similar some time ago - so many flowers this year, this is a year for flowers, have you ever seen so many flowers? All the rain and sunshine, all the time, for flowers to bloom.
May 5th
We report: we could not fall asleep very easily last night. We had dreams that we were still awake, and it was difficult to imagine we were not sleeping when we woke up. When the sun tentatively got closer to the horizon, as the moon set, we realised we would remain sleepless.
May 7th
We report: when we see these big clouds in the spring, we sometimes think that they must carry the heat of the whole summer that will come afterward. "This makes no sense", our expert tells us, but we like the idea. This is a day that would be warm if it were not for the wind.
May 6th
We report that this was a long day, in all the right ways; when we woke up early and listened to birdsong in the distance, when we overslept and woke up feeling rested, when we found moments to read a few pages of a book throughout the day. We feel as though we stole a whole day.
May 11th
We report: good morning, good morning, the sky is endless and the clouds roam free. Good morning to the birds riding the wind, to our expert making coffee in the kitchen, and good morning to our face in the mirror as we brush our teeth. Good morning to you asleep and your dreams.
May 8th
We report, early morning, the smell of blackthorn blossoms heavy in the air. We are walking through tall, dewy grass. A lot of the first flowers of spring are now going to seed, and like a well-composed symphony, other plants are flowering, with different colours and shapes.
May 9th
We report: we are standing here after sunset in the same way we would stay seated through the end credits at the cinema. We are not expecting anything special to happen anymore, but we need a moment to process the day we have lived through. We will go home in a little while.
May 21st
We report: we have made it to the other side of the new moon. Even when the sky was pitch black, the tide came in and went out, and Earth's axis tilt remained at 23.4°. And tonight as the moon sets, we think about how it will grow bigger and rounder for many days to come.
May 10th
We report May slipping through our fingers faster than we know it. There was a lot that we had wanted out of this spring, perhaps too much; as the days stretch longer, we feel a sense of hurry. However will we manage to do everything we want to, and will the days be long enough?
May 12th
We report the days of spring when there is a lot of rain too - when the earth is always soggy, and we track mud everywhere we go. It is such an enthusiastic amount of water, and the birds are singing so loudly that we do not care about the mud, that it becomes a joyous chaos.
May 13th
We report: we are on the tail end of the blue hour, when everything fades to grey. It has gotten colder since the sun set, but the whole day has been a bit windy and chilly anyway. Now, as the light becomes dimmer and dimmer, we try to take hold of the moment.
May 14th
We report slanted shadows on the walls and branches moving slowly in the morning breeze, an open window, our cold hands and the warm light, our breath in the humid air. And even when the sun will climb higher in the sky, a bit of the smell of the sunrise will cling to our hair.
May 15th
We report: now then, like every day before and to come, everything begins and ends with the sky. We know so; we never forget. The stars are right there, the universe has not shrunk down, it is all just behind the sunshine. And the sky is open and bright, and the clouds move fast.
May 16th
We report a quiet grey afternoon; we were down there earlier and the clouds were swallowing the hill. And then we climbed up the hill and breathed in the clouds, and once we were on top, we watched the rain come in over the fields, listened to a lark far away.
May 17th
We report: the moon is catching up with the sun, rising a few moments before dawn and spending barely an hour alone with the night. It is the thinnest brushstroke of gold in the sky, barely visible during the day; a waning crescent that will fully disappear in a couple of days.
May 18th
We report, one night in mid-May when the sun makes its way deeper and deeper into the night; the swallows fly lower than they usually do, to catch bugs that fly lower than they usually do. The sky, orange and burning, smells of rain perhaps, or the mist that rises into the night.
May 19th
We report: end of the afternoon, the last warm hour of the day. In the shadows, we begin to feel cold after just a few moments, but the sunshine still catches our eyes. We can hear many birds, some bees are still buzzing around; there is something in the air we cannot describe.
May 20th
We report about struggling to describe the skies we see to our expert. We will say, "It was all grey, but the clouds were all different greys, it was like quicksilver; and we took pictures, but a second later, everything changed," but they will not know what it was really like.
May 22nd
We report on the shore at dawn; between the tide and the seagulls, the day had started long before any light reached the sky. The ocean never sleeps, after all, but we do, and as invigorating as the salty air may be, we still need to shake off our dreams. We watch the waves.
May 23rd
We report: this is the same story we like to tell each other, of tall clouds that we think we could live in, right there in the shadow where the steam curls up. We could build a house in the valley between those hills, and it would not be too cold or windy (it is but a story).
May 24th
We report that it is harder to tell what is up or down when there is no horizon to speak of - is it still the horizon when there is no ground? Up here between two sheets of clouds, we can only wonder how much lower we can go before we touch land (above us, a lot more sky though).
May 25th
We report: the night is only beginning to settle, and the clouds loom dark and velvet in the cold twilight. When the dim blue light weighed upon us like water, pressing everything down until we could hardly see anything anymore, everything grey - we took a slow path to sleep.
May 26th
We report a sunset that reminds us of the last shot of a movie, something to look at while we replay the whole film in our heads, an image to stay stuck in our mind while the screen goes dark, an easy metaphor of endings and beginnings. Our expert expects the credits to roll.
May 27th
We report a cirrus cloud rising from the forest; at first glance, we thought for sure it was smoke. We had a moment of panic for a fraction of a second until we walked into a clearing where we could see the sky better - bright blue, wide, with this one delicate cloud up there.
May 28th
We report: this is sometime after sunrise, but we only know this because our expert has a calendar that keeps track of these things. It is still very dark out. There is a bit of a drizzle going on; the clouds do not seem to be all that thick but the air is very damp.
May 29th
We report a dream that we had, or about waking up and only remembering small details. The sun through a window; the sun rays caught on floating dust. The floorboards were loud, and it smelled like an attic in an old house. We opened our eyes to darkness and felt a sense of loss.
May 30th
We report: we sometimes hear about what humans understand of the inner workings of our world. It has to do, often, with things too far, too big, or too small to see, and sounds that escape our range of hearing. On lucky days, we get a glimpse into a few of these invisible cogs.
May 31st
We report cirrus pushing into the sky like wildflowers from the earth; the way they curve and bend in the sky for the wind, the way they appear out of nowhere and grow, persistent and decisive. The blue gets a little more white, minute by minute, as gossamer veils of ice spread.