February 29th
We report about the last few hours before the moon sets. This is a waning gibbous moon - between the full moon and the last quarter - that has been rising late in the evening. The day is about to begin, gathering scraps of light in the quiet, dour grey. A moment before colours.
February 28th
We report: the clouds, fast and steady as the afternoon meets the early evening. The wind has turned it all into a race, the crows against the cloud against the dying light. The thermometer is showing a very different temperature to the one that we are feeling at the moment.
February 27th
We report a breach in the clouds around noon - we took some time to inspect the sky, and the sun is still a great ways away from its zenith. The air is just now starting to warm, standing still for a minute right there in the light, we can feel the sun until a breeze swoops in.
February 26th
We report: sometimes, on the seaside, we like to look away from the ocean in order to pay attention to the cliff face. Layers upon layers of limestone separated by time, revealed through erosion. We are thinking about cliff faces tonight, as the sun exposes stacks of clouds.
February 25th
We report this evening: our expert and us both drenched to the bone. We had thought, with how much later the sun has been setting these days, that it would not be this dark. It seems though, that the rain clouds are obscuring the twilight. We think we might have felt a hailstone.
February 24th
We report: hares in the fields, then a partridge later. The mud is frozen, the clouds are thick. Not much wind. Some colza and daffodils blooming on the roadside. A little bit more of February, its low skies and its half-steps, the transitions in the light and the time.
February 23rd
We report about the second wind of winter. Our expert has been more tired than usual, but speaks of the hail and the freezing rain with a certain fondness. The sky has been blue several times today, but never without precipitation at the same time. The gulls come and go.
February 22nd
We report: colder today, a dry wind that howled like a pack of wolves since before dawn. The weather has been more fickle this week, a wide range of temperatures and many different skies (crowded, filled to the brim, and then a blank canvas when we look up again).
February 21st
We report on a blue evening: our teeth set against the steel of the wet, seething cold, the sunset came earlier than we had assumed it would. There was hail, and then the empty clouds grew darker, one shade after the other, until the sky was full of ink blots. Chatty sparrows.
February 20th
We report: the barometer and the thermometer are both down. It rained a lot last night, and today, the waters are murky, agitated even through the advection fog. We cannot see the horizon. We picked up a nice, pearlescent seashell that glimmered in the sand amidst all the grey.
February 19th
We report about that winter blue, when the air is very dry. The light moves clean and easy through the atmosphere - though this early in the day, the sun is still low. And behind the white clouds: the sky is a dark blue, deep and dazzling. The wind is whistling past our ears.
February 18th
We report: yellow sunrise, bright and early. We had a nightmare last night, some strange thing that we could not quite recollect in details, but the colours in the sky this morning are dissolving the odd confusion that remained. We stand still, breathing in and out.
February 17th
We report about a place we thought lived in the shadows at night. We came all the way out here expecting complete darkness, but the sky is bright enough for us to find our way among the trees. It smells like rocks and moss and humus. We look up, and find the clouds impenetrable.
February 16th
We report: it has gotten warmer a lot faster in the past few days - a few wildflowers here and there have been known to show themselves, as well as a couple of those yellow butterflies. We are thinking about the oncoming spring, even as cold rain starts to fall on our head.
February 15th
We report about bright blue skies, and the cirrus that came to sweep them. They form when dry, warm air rises and the water in it clings onto metallic and mineral dust particles, and reaches a nucleation point. This is the point when we stopped listening to our expert.
February 14th
We report: one day, at sunset, we started marching towards the horizon with the sincere (naive, but sincere) hope to make it last longer. We quickly had to stop in our tracks when we came upon a body of water. Tonight, we would walk into the sea if we had to, to make this last.
February 13th
We report on the roadside: we got out of the car while our expert was looking for directions on their phone. It has rained heavily through the afternoon, and this road is all bumps and potholes. Cons and pros: we are getting splashed a lot, but the sky reflects in the puddles.
February 12th
We report: there was a really nice rainbow, and then we decided to look the other way, where the sun was piercing the clouds. The rain there, one of those sudden and quick showers, was bright like pieces of the sun itself were falling, crystal shards glistening in the light.
February 11th
We report about this thing we do quite a lot, looking up. When we get up - find a window, look up. We get out of the house - look up. Walking somewhere, looking up in a way that feels a little reckless. Waiting for our expert, we look up again. The sky is always there somehow.