We report: after the heat wave, the storms and the torrential rains of May, the month ends quietly. We observed the light breeze, and the formations of cirrus, cirrocumulus, and altocumulus throughout the day. Now at the cusp of nightfall, we feel enough of a chill for a jacket.
We report: the trends our expert had noted from previous days are being confirmed, and the morning wind is a little chilly. As for coming days, there seems to be flurry of different fronts coming our way - warm, cold, occluded, back to warm. We shall deal with them in due time.
We report a couple of hours into a thunderstorm: this is an interesting conjunction of events. In the east, it is the moon rising, not the sun, and it is mid-afternoon, despite the sunset light. We think that the spectacular volume of rain is scattering the light this way.
We report: after hours of watching clouds rise very high, and then promptly dissolve upon reaching a certain threshold, we found one promising specimen. This is a slow bloom, with a solid stem. The sky is beginning to darken around it. We can almost feel the rain already.
We report: we now get around to a month of short nights, a handful of hours between the two ends of nautical twilight. We wonder whether this is enough time for the thermometer to go down. It still smells like sunshine on our skin, even as the sun is getting further away from us.
We report: this is a side of May we did not know, heat pushing down on us this way. The sight of incoming clouds makes us feel thankful, and the breeze that pushed them in our direction as well. However, in the end, the breeze itself is not any cooler, and we are still sweating.
We report: we walk into masses of warm air as the sun is getting up to its zenith. At times, when we leave the shade of the trees, it hits us out of the blue, something eerie in the sudden change. We smell the undergrowth’s cold humidity with one leg already in the burning sun.
We report: while it has been getting warmer and warmer in the last couple of days, the mornings are still full of dew. In a few minutes of walking in the grass, our trousers are damp up to our knees. Our expert is trying not to laugh at us, with their dry feet in wellies.
We report about nightfall on the coast, the last few minutes of it. Today was much warmer than yesterday, and the humid air made it feel muggy very fast. A breeze started blowing from the sea late afternoon, and now that it is dark, it is blowing from the land instead.
We report: before this kind of rain, we witness the hAlf-hour long ritual taking place in the sky. The larger clouds start gathering, and we see rain blurring out the farthest reaches of the horizon. Then, minutes before the flood, those dark, torn up pieces of clouds spread out.
We report: it is late in the evening, and the sky is bright; the blue there seems as though it could never change. And as we watch the cirrus expand along the jet stream, the swifts ever-present around us, we know the colour fades some, darkens somehow, but we cannot really tell.
We report: later on, when we think back to this moment, we remember how cold and windy it was. The colder it got, the brighter the sunset was. We were standing in the half-empty car park, and the scale of the sky above us made us feel so small, crushed under the light.
We report: high and far out in the sky, maybe at its furthest edge (at least, our concept of such edge), the clouds spall in turbulent currents. There are these eyebrow clouds again. Now that we have learned of their existence, we keep noticing them above hills and valleys.
We report: our expert was tracking the path of the sun through the sky all day long, and even now that it has set, they cannot let it go. The estimation, at the moment, is 3, maybe 4° below the horizon. We hope that we will manage to take them home when it gets fully dark.
We report: a cold front washed over us today, and in its wake, the wind is particularly strong and chilly. Our expert had predicted it, in a slightly esoteric way. As per usual, we took note of the strange words they mentioned, and we are now reading up about isallobaric wind.
We report: mid-afternoon, the sunniest hour of the day, but the wind is not letting the warmth stick. Just a month ago, the trees here were only just starting to grow new leaves, and now the cover of the foliage is thick and dense. Altocumulus ceaselessly rush over our head.
