November 21st

We report: at last, the chaos in the sky accurately represents the chaos of the weather we have been observing lately. We reckon we shall meet maximum entropy at any moment. This, at least, is something we know of November, a device of constant, unexpected changes.

November 20th

We report on a day spent watching clouds rise, and then fall as soon as they stopped soaring, unable to hold their shapes. We feel the loss of each degree of temperature as the evening goes on, our numb face when we talk. Hailstones are gathered in strange places on the ground.

November 19th

We report after sunset, looking out towards the east. The weak glow on the clouds is like someone has turned off the light, but left the door ajar as they went. The nightlight flickers; we get to see the last cloud melt into the night before it starts raining.

November 18th

We report: we felt cold, so we walked fast, and now we feel too warm. This is the way it goes. In the clouds, corroding steel wool is unraveling, scratching up the whole sky across. Whatever bird we see is flying near the ground. We hear hail coming in the distance.

November 17th

We report in the early afternoon, when the sun is still high and white. Something has changed in the atmospheric pressure, after weeks of the same. We do not know the exact correlation between all these warm, cold fronts, anticyclones and depressions… But we know it is cold now.

November 16th

We report: the sunset is on the wind, the colours are moving down its flow. There is sun in our eyes, somehow, even though we are almost certain that it ought to be behind the horizon by now. We watch a paper bag tumble down the street with an odd sense of awe.

November 15th

We report on a day that we stumbled through, tired, our mind stuck somewhere else. Only now, with the stars above our head, do we feel a little awake. Distant houses watch us with their orange eyes, but we do not feel observed, and we find our solace in this darkness.

November 14th

We report: after the fact, we think we drove through the rainbow, or by it, or under it. We cannot recall how it went exactly, although there were a lot of light and colours, and the rain glittered. And then, the rainbow faded so soon anyway, the whole moment felt like a dream.

November 13th

We report in a moment of infinite sky, when the bird that is flying the highest looks like it might be in outer space, a minuscule white dot floating among the highest cirrus of the atmosphere. It makes us take a big breath, knowing that we could not possibly run out of air.

November 12th

We report: some clouds have taken it upon themselves to kickstart the sunset before the rest of the sky. First, the threads of gold that snag onto our eyelashes, and then the rush of humidity that takes hold of the air. We feel sparks and shivers in the crook of our neck.

November 11th

We report in the tall grass that remains when ferns have dried up and wilted. There is a skylark practicing its lilting flight across the meadows, the only moving part of this hushed morning. We follow the desire paths of foxes and boars along the trees, trying to dodge cobwebs.

November 10th

We report: we stepped out of the train station, and the whole sky fell on our head, all at once, and it was hail, too. We considered walking in that weather for a second, but the sky continued on falling, so we decided against it. We stood there, dripping on the tiled floor.

November 9th

We report in the deep afternoon, which is not very deep these days - one step to the side, and the sunset already grabs us by our feet. In the meantime, there is something really good in the clouds today, in their willingness to bloom into the light. We remember why we look up.

November 8th

We report: a lot of the time, when we think about November during all the other months of the year, it is something like this; that or the rain, but there has not been as much of that so far. In this way, as all our memories match up, we live in all of our Novembers at once.

November 7th

We report in the complete absence of the sun: it is as dark as we remember it from previous nights, when the sun also was not there. We are counting all the other suns that we are now able to observe. Our expert insists that we do not need to count stars every time we see them.

November 6th

We report: even with the weight of the sky, the clouds are rushing by. There is no time even for rain now, only the obfuscation of daylight, and the impression of a torrent streaming across the sky. The same few spots of blue curiously remain open through it all.

November 5th

We report in the mid-afternoon light, which it seems is in fact the evening light. The sun is trailing along behind low clouds, casting a golden something in the air. Our expert‘s coat is too thick for the mild temperature, but they insist on wearing it, visibly red in the face.

November 4th

We report: there is a weight to this morning, like the day was fully formed as soon as there was light in the sky. The sunrise does not hold for our waking up, so we have to be here with our eyes very open, and our mind very alert. We left the smell of coffee and toast behind.

November 3rd

We report: since the sky is oddly bright, we look for the moon, finding it pretending to be full (as you do). It sits in knots of cirrus, like a particularly talented spider on its web. Our expert gasps at the discovery of a moon dog, brilliant remanence of second-hand sunshine.

November 2nd

We report as the wind picks up in the mountains: here where the trees are rare and frail things, the thinnest breeze sweeps us over such that it is difficult to walk against the tide. Rain breaks through the clouds in short bursts. We do our best not to get our hair in our mouth.