December 23rd

We report: we took the road that heads westwards just so we could see the sunset better. It is going to be quite the detour, at least until dark, when the way will be harder to find. The clouds wander at the slowest pace, though we can see the trees sway wildly on the ground.

December 22nd

Digital painting of the seaside at nightfall. It is all shades of blue, the overcast sky, and the sea with its frothy waves. On the horizon, the coast and a few islands are visible. There are yellow and white lights dotting them.

December 21st

We report on the day of the winter solstice: the whole event almost passed us by, which is a common issue on the shortest day of the year. It was a good thing, then, that we were able to witness a brief, faint rainbow. A little something to remember this solstice by.

December 20th

We report: the seagulls are a loud crowd out here this morning, just like every other morning, to be frank. The cold on the seaside is quite a different affair. The wind is a constant, of course, but the briny air cuts deeper. It is lucky that we found our lost glove.

December 19th

We report: we saw a field mice run across the path earlier, and it was all we could do not to take it home to give it a scarf and a hat. We are aware that we are projecting, what with the fact that we only have one glove for some reason. We are jumping in place to warm up.

December 18th

We report: the night is pulling away, and the rain is going as well. For unknown reasons, the street lamps on our block have not been working lately; the nights have been dark places out of this world. When the morning comes, we get brought back to reality. We fall back asleep.

December 17th

We report about these dusk-tinged days around the solstice. They are brittle little things, the wobbly light threatening to go out upon the smallest disturbance. We go about our afternoon with careful steps, lest the whole things blinks out. The soft clouds stretch forevermore.

December 16th

We report: just a minute ago, the sky was a perfect blue, but now that we look again, all sorts of intruders have appeared. A little bit further west, the cloud cover is impressively dense. In the east, the horizon is still completely clear. We are giving it two minutes more.

December 15th

We report on this mid-December day: it has been an oddly quiet day. The last few weeks have been punctuated with storms and cold spells; many roofs lost their tiles, and our usual path is currently a mud slide. Today, there was a light drizzle, and nothing much else. Quiet.

December 14th

We report: the trees are already bare here, and the moon is too big in the sky - always is, while it is rising. It would seem that autumn was a short affair here. It is that much easier to see the evening birds without the leaves, and we track their silhouettes in the dusk sky.

December 13th

We report in the late morning: we thought the fog would be all gone by now, but it has barely lifted at all. It seems that we have traded the wind for more humidity - certainly a big change. Frost clings to the grass in some spots, making for a fascinatingly crunchy walk.

December 12th

We report: the clouds are spreading like smoke, today, curling in and around one another. There is a lightness to it all. The wind has fallen back down to less staggering speeds, so we have an easier time listening to our expert as they talk about cirrus intortus.

December 11th

We report, our eyes fixed on the afterimage of the sun: the fine hail of this afternoon has stayed frozen on the ground. In half light, the white of it has taken on the pink of the sky. When we close the window, our face feels numb from the cold, and we take the icy air with us.

December 10th

We report: a truce with the rain, tonight, and from what we can tell, the clouds are more sparse than they have been in quite a few nights. Nonetheless, the persistent wind has not stopped blowing for the past week, and it happily pulls tears and snot from our ruddy face.

December 9th

We report under remarkably weighty skies, in the early evening. It has been raining on and off through this whole day, and yet the clouds that have shown up from behind us announce substantial precipitation to come. We hear the presage of a hail shower in the distance.

December 8th

We report: there are ripples in the sky today, like well-worn grooves in the sand at low tide. Our expert tells us that some people research these things, and we certainly understand why looking at them. The wind sorts through the sediments some more as we are sitting here.

December 7th

We report: the days are shorter and shorter, the clouds are speeding across the sky, and we keep finding dead leaves in our hair when we come home. Autumn is giving way to winter with each drop of the thermometer, and each gust of wind in our ears. The sky is burning out.

December 6th

We report in some kind of limbo: the sky has had this little bit of pink for a little while now, but it remains quite dark. It seems that the sun will not budge. It is a chilly, windy dawn; we are flexing our fingers to keep them from going numb. It starts raining.

December 5th

We report: here we are, breathing in more brine than air, and perhaps our lungs will rust. The damp has gotten to every part of us already, and our mind is foggy, and our hands are salt-sticky. We will probably be something new once we get back, a creature from the deep.

December 4th

We report with our nose so cold that we have managed to convince ourselves it could fall off any minute. We understand the reason why it gets colder on clear days - no cloud cover to keep the cold air out and the warm air in. Still, it feels a little counter-intuitive to us.