March 25th
We report: it is marshy here, and we are struggling to pick our feet back up every time we put them down. We speak low, but the sound of our steps is louder than our voice anyway. We watch our expert's back through the fog of our breath. The full moon is completely obscured.
March 24th
We report a messy morning, windy enough to make waves in the large puddles on our path. The light is indolent, dragging behind as the rest of the world moves forward. We feel a bit small, a bit sideways, a little upside down; maybe the low clouds feel heavy on our shoulders.
March 23rd - 10 PM
We report short showers at night, loud but difficult to see. Clouds pass by, borrowing dark, shimmering colours from the moon. It is almost full, the moon; it is at least bright enough that we feel like we are missing out when we are not looking. A shiver when it is fully hidden.
March 23rd - 7 PM
We report: there has to be a lot of wind for the clouds to be chased in and out like that, and it was windy indeed, today. We witnessed so many different skies; perhaps the wind was the only constant. The sun is now hovering precariously over the horizon, clouds are still moving.
March 23rd - 4 PM
We report in the middle of the afternoon: having solely looked at the cloudier part of the sky for the past couple of hours, it came as a surprise to us that there was a less cloudy part. It revealed itself as a bright yellow light that lit everything on its path on fire.
March 23rd - 1 PM
We report: the sky has begun to darken again, and the sunlight has gradually waned. Looking at the bold intensity of the blue sky this morning, we had assumed it would remain unwavering through the day; but the winds have changed, and the air smells different now.
March 23rd - 10 AM
We report about more light in this sky than we remember getting in a long time. We are careening through the month of March, the sky is still holding up, the sun is shining well enough - all of this, frankly, against all odds. We are hoping to keep this going for a little while.
March 23rd - 7 AM
We report: the storm did not last very long in the night, but the air remains saturated with rain. It has made this morning feel colder than any other this past week. The sky is slowly clearing out; many birds about, loud in a way that is only acceptable from birds.
March 23rd - 4 AM
We report about spring thunderstorms, which we had somehow forgotten existed - quite the feat, since our expert mentioned them just as spring arrived. We managed to observe a few lightning bolts, which remained etched onto our retinas until we went back to sleep.
March 22nd
We report: the fashion of travelling amongst clouds is extremely orderly today, exemplary behaviour we think. They are all, to the best of their ability, arranged in a row, moving at an appropriate, reasonable speed. We can appreciate an effort at reining chaos in (good luck!).
March 21st
We report about a conspiracy: the clouds are swallowing the sun, curling around it, smothering it as though they could snuff it out if they tried hard enough. We know from experience that this is something the sun will come back from. We still stare with a low level of anxiety.
March 20th
We report: this is Jupiter, right there, bright and lonely. We could pretend that we knew this right off the bat, but it would be wrong. Jupiter has been in our sky for more than a few nights now, and we have pointed and asked "what's this one, then" for most of them.
March 19th
We report in the beginning of the afternoon; from our vantage point, we can see the light struggle to make it through the clouds very well. It trickles down sluggishly, caught in pits and ditches of steam. Where the rain falls, way down there, it is dark and opaque.
March 18th
We report: for this sky, on a day such as this one, we have to wonder whether we are completely clear on the definition of "cloud". Are these clouds blue or white? What counts as "cloud"? And how can we count these clouds? The more we stare, the more confusion arises.
March 17th
We report about the saffron light this evening, something that fell over the world with the finality that is granted by sunsets. After a muggy day, the end of the afternoon has come to unravel the clouds, pulling all the threads until blue was visible through the stitches.
March 16th
We report: waxing crescent moon descending, a little bit over a week before the full moon. We almost missed it behind buildings and trees, but when we saw it, the sky was darkening just enough that it stood out. A bright spot among the scattered evening clouds.
March 15th
We report about the many blinks lost in the wind, untied shoelaces dipped in puddles, the mangled, blue, sodden clouds. The cars hiss on shiny roads, a sharp white noise that splashed the hems on our trousers. The sun will set soon after a day of hiding (a recipe for insomnia).
March 14th
We report: in the dip of the curve on the bump in the cycle of daylight, we managed to pinpoint the precise moment when yellow light started to walk into the sky. At the very least, one moment it was not there, and the next, it was. Things of the sky work between intervals.
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.