March 13th

We report a kind little path to daylight, nothing so bright as to be considered rude in the early morning. We bumped into our expert in the kitchen last night, an apparition glowing in the refrigerator's light. We stayed up after that; the sunrise meets our tired, bleary eyes.

March 12th

We report: we have to watch the stars so that they will not fall, that is our job, we are paid for it - or so our expert says. We do not mind. It is late and our eyes feel very dry, but we could keep watching for the rest of the night, if we are allowed to blink a few times.

March 11th

We report about the sun cutting through the sky after it got all wrung out - the walk in the rain that got us mud on our knees and up to our elbows, smelling of pennies and petrichor until we got home. Even then, it got caught in our nose, something green, and watery, and deep.

March 10th

We report: in a corner of the sun where the light leaks out in oily streaks, we found something that we could see with our naked eyes. Hours later, it sticks, persistent, a brazen stroke of odd colours that we are not all that familiar with. The clouds have long gone.

March 9th

We report about a morning we stumbled upon, lost as we were in the night. It seems that we are never ready for those sunrises that are bright and cheery, ones that light up the whole sky like it is some sort of occasion. We feel brittle under the flood of the blustering light.

March 8th

We report: a walk in the dark, high humidity, low atmospheric pressure, dew point of 6°C. There is a cat skittering just out of sight, following and running from us all at once. We never see what it looks like exactly, but it waits for us at the edges of the shadows sometimes.

March 7th

We report a small piece of rainbow. How utterly and endlessly wonderful it is, to get the privilege of observing the full spectrum of perceivable colours with our own two eyes, in nature no less. How fascinating it is that we can expect to have this experience in life.

March 6th

We report: spring is to come, once again. We are taking small steps in the liminal space between seasons. The weather pendulum fluctuates wildly, constantly oscillating from winter to spring, and back to winter again. Despite everything, it stirs something in us.

March 5th

We report about another morning with the sun, and with the wind the wind the wind. We could do with standing still at the moment, but the wind is right behind us, the exact right spot to push us forward. No time to look at the face of today. Maybe tonight we will know it better.

March 4th

We report: the moon will not rise for another few hours still, and it is too thin to reflect much light at this point of the cycle, but the clouds are lit as though touched by moonlight. Other than that - pitch black sky, scarce pinholes of stars on the velvet vault.

March 2nd

We report cumulonimbus capillatus incus, one iteration out of many these past few days. It rains, all the time, in a different way every time. The clouds stretch out on all the layers of the atmosphere, blinding white, frayed, watery grey, set, dusty blue, fuzzy, gossamer thin.

March 1st

We report: a blaze, a bright thing scraping the lowest clouds. For all intents and purposes, the sun had set. It had gone past the horizon after a perfectly good sunset, and then had decided it was not content with the effect it had produced. A wild last flash in the night.

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).