May 15th

We report: we had no idea night was so close. The sky has been low through the afternoon, layers upon layers of thick clouds - it was dark all along. Now, judging from the colour of the light seeping through, sunset must be near. The birds are flying higher and higher.

May 14th

We report about dissolved clouds, small shreds of steam moving unconsolidated; they are headed in the same general direction, but with a remarkable lack of purpose. Our expert gently explains to us that there is no use in anthropomorphising clouds, but we cannot help it.

May 13th

Digital painting of a sunset scene in the countryside. The sky is orange, a subtle gradient with a small, thin yellow cloud floating there. The landscape: blue mountains in the distance, then a line of green trees, and a field of tall grass that the sunset tints orange in some places.

May 12th

We report at dawn: when we got up during the night, the sky was clear and full of stars, but this morning, we can smell rain and shivers on the wind. The clouds brood, big and dark; we appreciate their languidness in the face of the breeze. In time, the sunlight will break out.

May 11th

We report: as soon as the sun got high enough in the sky (early, the solstice is getting nearer), it got rather warm. No wind to speak of, so when the clouds came, they were welcome. Billowing mountains grew through the long afternoon from the dust on the horizon.

May 10th

We report on the brightest day yet this year: it has not rained in a few days. Because it is rather warm today, the smell in the air is one that brings us back to a very specific moment - many years back, spring, a cloud moves to let sunshine onto our face. We sneeze.

May 9th

We report: salty in the back of our throat, the morning has opened up so that, even if it is early, we feel welcome to be alive in it. We wait for our commute and fall back asleep a little while standing. We confuse twilights and we go home in a dream - what an odd day already.

May 8th

We report on a moonless night: the power is out in the neighbourhood. Our eyes are tired, it is a balmy spring evening, and when we look up, we cannot help but think the stars are about to fall on us. They flicker. We lose our balance as we forget where the ground is.

May 7th

We report: there are wilted apple blossoms everywhere on the sodden ground, and the wind is bringing down many more of them. There is a chill clinging onto the air, but it is half-hearted, only carried by the breeze at this point. The clouds shimmer in silver tones.

May 6th

We report from the exact right angle, at the exact right moment, a burst of light, something fierce and bright. That sunshine would have been scattered into the sky anyway, but to see it surge from behind the clouds like this has to count as something special, perhaps a miracle.

May 5th

We report: the sun stretches to long scraps of ashen light, not enough to go around the whole sky. It is burning at both ends, and the day is all done, over, and we are able to say that we have lived through it. Cross it out, start a new one. And the sun stretches thinner still.

May 4th

We report at the hour when ghosts appear, walking in the middle of the road. It is not enough of a place that we imagine any cars could come by here and now, but we keep listening for them anyway. Instead, we hear echoes of a motorway in the distance, and the wind in our ears.

May 3rd

We report: despite all appearances, this is not much of a day for rain. The clouds contort themselves around precipitations, spinning around aimlessly while no wind blows. The sky above is a careless blue, steady when we catch a glimpse of it. The sun hits through the greys.

May 2nd

We report in the easy morning light, the air blooms around the clouds. We do not remember whether we heard any rain last night, but the grass is especially wet, and the mud is fresh on the path. It smells bright. The sun comes out all the time. The sky keeps sprawling out.

May 1st

We report: with the later sunsets, we find ourselves alone in the streets when the sky turns orange. We see people indoors going about their evening while the clouds move westwards, taking the sun with them where we cannot see it. The puddles light up in potholes.

April 30th

We report about our daily devastation, each time our favourite, the blue hour, the inkwell that spills over the whole sky. The wind changes, and it rains a little bit, but it is not cold. We face darkness once more, and the sky is starved for lost light, still, always.

April 29th

We report: it is loudly raining at the moment, and the sea is a large sounding board for it. The shower seems very local, as the coast on the horizon is enjoying the sunshine while we are drowning in open air. We need to shout to be understood by our expert, much to their dismay.

April 28th

We report in the sun: it is certainly not warm enough that we feel it through our clothes, but we can feel the sunshine on our face. We stand there, our eyes closed, facing the sun. It is bright crimson, and we can hear the new foliage swaying, whispers in the spring breeze.

April 27th

We report: evening, a drizzle. Even through the light rain, this sunset seems remarkably late in the day, now that April is coming to a close. The clouds are pooling overhead, but many parts of the sky remain clear. A blackbird hops around, cheerful trills in the dying light.

April 26th

We report in the last dregs of the night: this waning gibbous moon is making its way down to the horizon, while we painfully attempt to make our way up. Half of the city is awake and busy - we would not mind belonging to the second half for a little while longer, asleep and idle.