March 25th
We report: it has not rained in the past couple of days. It is chilly, but the grass is dry enough that we lay down our coat on top of it, and then us on top of the coat. We have no way to prove it, but the clouds that we see from here are the best ones. Perhaps we fall asleep.
March 24th
We report: the west wind veered southwest through the night, and the moderate breeze turned into a strong breeze. Fog banks advanced towards land in the early morning, but dissipated before first lights. It is now the coldest it will get today; it feels exactly right.
March 23rd
We report: because of the ambiguity of the light at this time of day, we wondered what was cloud and what was sky for a second. Once we managed to focus our eyes, we finally could see the filaments of steam billowing through the sunset fluorescence. Soon, it all withered away.
March 22nd
We report late in the morning: the weather is perfectly typical today, temperatures not one degree above or below the maximum and minimum average for the season. We find genuine and profound thrill in this medium, mediocre, conventional, common, classic bit of normality.
March 21st
We report: It is jarringly sunny today, to the point we cannot help but bring it up in all our conversations. We are standing downwind to a rapeseed field, and the flowers’ sticky smell is permeating the air. It remains in the back of our nose when we walk away.
March 20th
We report during the half hour in the evening when birds cannot help but sing. Recently, a few more species have joined the sparrows that kept on chirping through winter. We can only really pick out the blackbirds in the mix. It gets late, and dark, and the birds do not quiet.
March 19th
We report: new moon on a clear night. Since the last time we saw the stars like this, a lot has changed. Some of them are gone, new ones have appeared. We ought to remember what spring constellations look like, but we barely do. It is too cold to try and jog our memory tonight.
March 18th
We report in between rolling waves: it is difficult to tell the difference between rain and ocean spray. Our expert is walking in front of us, and we cannot make out a word they say. There is all around enough chaos that we eventually yield to the weather, and head back home.
March 17th
We report: every year, we look at March closely with the hope of understanding what it is. It never makes sense the way we want it to; it is never another month of winter, nor is it ever really the first month of spring. We have to be here each day, and try to make it ours.
March 16th
We report this morning: our expert was up early looking at mysterious graphs and maps that we could not figure out. They tell us that they are tracking space weather. We watch the sun rise, struggling to walk straight in the wind, and we think we have enough weather down here.
March 15th
We report: our expert, who inexplicably owns several sets of keys, is trying to find their house key in the dark. We look up while we wait. Somehow, the sky is never as lovely of a sight as when we see it in a stolen moment. We lag behind even as the door is opening.
March 14th
We report in troubled waters: the crashing waves of the sky make no sound, but they are no less impressive to the eye. We always expect the whole world to stop when the clouds reach a certain level of oddity; most of the time, nothing happens. The sky always clears up, too.
March 13th
We report: mid-March, it still gets properly cold. It is freezing out here, especially when the sun is gone for long stretches of time. The wind is whipping our hair into our eyes while we watch bright green surge out of the ground; a strange colour after all these months.
March 12th
We report late in the evening, in a pre-sunset kind of situation. It is a consolation sunset that happens when the sky will be too overcast for the genuine sunset, later on. We are not very upset; it is very windy, and we can feel the rain coming on in the weight of the clouds.
March 11th
We report: the humidity has fallen on us ravenous with the night, and we feel it in the sharp edges of the air (our expert’s nose is very red). There is something a little eerie about this moment; the sky already dark, a few stars out, and yet the clouds are still bright.
March 10th
We report about a day when the sky was always either almost or completely full of unspun wool. As unspun wool does, it would tangle and catch; the pure white of sunlit clouds always rolled up into the dark greys eventually. All of this, and only a countable amount of raindrops.
March 8th
We report a few minutes after the sun has gone down: the sky has been hazy all day long for some reason. Because of the surprisingly low volume of humidity, our expert thinks this could be dust, or sand suspended in the air. As a result, the sun was sunset orange for a long time.
