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.

December 3rd

We report: we spend so much time trying to be at the right moment, at the right place, that we sometimes forget about good things happening by chance. The sunset snuck up on us, and it almost upset us, that it looked so nice, that we had not anticipated it. We felt happy.

December 2nd

We report sometime around dusk, or perhaps a bit later - it is hard to tell here, where the sky is often orange the whole night through. The stars are grounded tonight. It smells like smoke. We walk alongside the titans on the horizon and watch them lay down, one after the other.

December 1st

We report: December, born out of rain in the night. We barely need to breathe out for steam to fog up our face, humid as it is out here. The sky says nothing but more rain, and it is nice, to have that certitude for a while longer. We listen close for the quiet between raindrops.

November 30th

We report this afternoon: there is such strength in the wind that the rain from this morning has completely dried up. Rather than a continuous flow of air, we feel short, sudden squalls that seem to momentarily turn the whole world on its head. It is such a bright and sunny day.

November 29th

We report: the sunset is revealing clouds that were too thin to see during the day. The light is catching them from below, like a last-minute attempt to get attention on what the sky was doing today. It is working for us. We watch the clouds fade back into dusty blue.

November 28th

We report with a shivering expert by our side; a car drove by just as our eyes had gotten used to darkness, full beam headlights on. We had to wait for a little longer. At first, we mistook the milky way for clouds, which is not that inaccurate. It is only a matter of distance.

November 27th

We report: the sky is running after itself, always more of it to come when it is all swept away, always something new to tell. Right now, there is only so much we can listen of it, but the energy behind the constant movement above us is pushing us forward with long strides.

November 26th

We report in the afternoon of a bright day; our expert was under the impression that it would rain some more, but instead, the sky cleared. Instead of getting warmer, it got colder, the dry air biting at our cheeks. We pulled out our sunglasses after a long time.

November 25th

We report: the days have been staunchly overcast, lately - all sorts of overcast, nothing monotonous about this weather. We watch the atmospheric pressure maps with rapt attention to determine the kind of overcast we will see today. The sunrise brings a few colours to the rain.

November 24th

We report in the few loose minutes before dawn, the ones that we all pretend to count carefully as though we were able to measure that stretch of time. We are sitting in the grass with our expert as they take notes, slowly realising they were lying about how dry the ground is.

November 23rd

We report: we are here in an empty parking lot, late November. It is pouring, and the wind is making all sorts of sounds that have us a little concerned. The clouds are getting caught on bare branches, and though it is early afternoon still, it seems the sun could be lost to us.

November 22nd

We report on the cusp of changing weather, which remains our favourite kind of moment. We notice that the light is shifting; high in the sky, it is a coruscating white, casting shimmers through the atmosphere. Down here, the shadows are multiplying, and our mind goes to rain.