January 26th

We report: there is sunshine there is sunshine there is sunshine. It is still January, but it is not just in our head that the Sun is generally higher in the sky. A little bit over nine hours, the day is. Nothing changes, really, yet everything is different, this year again.

January 25th

We report after the rain this afternoon, the evening breeze has shooed away a few of the clouds, the ones that were not tethered to this here place like some others are. In this doing, a little bit of pink light has come and graced our transition to the night. More, please.

January 24th

We report: the moon is virtually full at this point in time, 99% full. It will be officially full tomorrow, sometime soon after sunset, for the first time this year. Its distance from Earth at this exact moment is 398900 kilometres. Illumination: 96,6%. Good night.

January 23rd

We report about the deep-seated desire that we have of knowing the sky. We have always wanted that, understanding and appreciating all the nuances of the sky for what they are. And though everyday we learn more, at some point light shines in a special way, and we know nothing.

January 22nd

We report: we have missed a train today, but we can only hope that the train dearly missed us in return. We waited at the station for the next one for a long time, watched people get off and on different trains until it got too cold for us to wait outside. Wispy cirrus.

January 21st

We report about the layer of ice covering everything, including the sky, including us. We are concerned that our eyeballs will freeze if we do not keep blinking. We are not seeing any birds this morning, and we are also worried that they might be frozen onto branches somewhere.

January 20th

We report: good morning - it is very early, but we wanted to bid good morning to you. We are wearing the whole shebang, scarf, and gloves, and hat, but we can still feel the chilly air close to our skin. The wind burns our eyes, and pre-dawn looks a little bit blurry.

January 19th

We report for our month of January so far, and by extension, the year: water, water, water. The earth is so full of water that no more can penetrate it. It is waterlogged, it squishes and squashes; fresh rainwater sits upon it in pools and puddles. Rivers crawl out of their beds.

January 18th

We report: the blue of the sky seems less than confident, today. We can only conclude that the ceaseless rain from past days has washed out all the blue from the sky, leaving it to barely muster a bit of cornflower. Not that we care, we can appreciate any and all shades of blue.

January 17th

We report about spending time wishing for time, and the time lost there. Maybe time spent watching the sky counts double, and if so, we will have lived double the time. We have surely given much of our time to the sky, we certainly feel it has given much of it back. What a treat.

January 16th

We report: here is a rather clear night, and for its trouble, our face is so cold that it hurts when we open our mouth to complain about it. Our expert has lent their too-big scarf to us, but, truly, any port in a storm. The stars will have to wait until more clement nights.

January 15th

We report, so far, no rain. There is nonetheless the suspicion of rain in the near future, which is a concept that may sometimes loom over us in the same fashion that actual rain would. The clouds look very much soaked through, such that we really wish we could wring them out.

January 14th

We report: a rare day when it feels as cold down here as it looks like it is up there. We think the clouds we are producing with our breath look quite similar to the ones we can see in the sky, and also the feathers of frost that have formed on the window. Cirrus vertebratus.

January 13th

We report about everything happening in front of our eyes all day every day. You see, sometimes we do not think about it all that much, and then we get attacked by all of it all at once. All this to say, tonight, there was a lot of light and sound, and we felt it very intensely.

January 12th

We report: in the hollow of a valley, sleepy lightning bugs. There is grey little light dragging itself through the air like it does not want to be here, and we are cold with our hands in our pockets and our nose in our scarf and our ears exposed and bright red (nobody sees).

January 11th

We report: good morning, we would like to draw attention to a lovely and unexpected event occurring at this moment. Would you please look up to the clouds and notice how, though the sky is largely grey, the gulls flying overhead are tinted orange by the sunrise light? Thank you.

January 10th

We report: today, we did not get too close to the shore. It is a little scary, the winter sea, sharp and icy. We cannot tell whether the salt that we are tasting on our face is from the sea or the tears that the cold wind pulled from our eyes. Same difference, is it not?

January 9th

We report about our dear, small winter sun still struggling to do very much, still looking a little peaky till noon and after noon as well. Are we to blame the poor thing on a icy morning such as this one, though? Or are we projecting onto it our own unwillingness to wake up?

January 8th

We report: our universe has a lot of void in it, places where there is no sound or light or air. Knowing this, we feel quite lucky to exist in one of the places where there is sound and light and air, in a way that sometimes makes us very happy - like this freezing, full morning.

January 7th

We report about this January day, the coldest it has been in this (unknown) place for this winter so far. The air is crisp, chilly, and brittle, all of those things, and we have no gloves, so our hands are becoming all those things, as well as "purple". It is starting to hail.