September 14th

We report: the clouds were mountains in the shadows of the sunset tonight. We were walking backwards so as to not miss one bit of the spectacle, which our expert chastised us about. Slightly hypocritical, as they were just as distracted, constantly looking over their shoulder.

September 13th

We report: the night fell on us much faster than we had expected. There has been this little spell of autumn this week, a taste of what is to come when October gets here. It is not quite cold, but we carry the wind with us in the dark, and the moon is misty between the clouds.

September 12th

We report about shapes in the sky, surprisingly enough. We do realise that it is all mostly about shapes in the sky, and the way they help us understand other, future shapes. Our expert takes offence when we voice these thoughts, but then they tell us some more about the shapes.

September 11th

We report: this cloud was strange enough to make a few passersby pause for a moment. It stood tall against the wind for longer than we thought it would, while the rest of the clouds vanished or moved on. Later, in the evening, a storm started to gather in the same place.

September 10th

We report today, again, like all of the days before and the days to come. It is perhaps absurd, but we did not realise things would keep happening. We knew, certainly, but we did not intimately understand about how the sun keeps rising, and we are alive, and the wind is strong.

September 9th

We report: we got up with the firm intention of getting right back to sleep - in search of a cup of water. We found ourselves drawn to the window, which was to be expected. The memory is foggy, but we think we dreamed up the stars. There could not have been so many.

September 8th

We report late in the afternoon, as rain is starting to fall in earnest. We came to watch the clouds advance, but the smell hit us like it was the first time we came across it, deep, organic, and crisp. "Petrichor" is almost too easy a word to describe the smell of rain.

September 7th

We report: after a rainy week, the day got too hot, too fast, and the clouds are rising like over-hydrated bread dough. The expansion is seemingly endless, and the air is still warm, and we are wondering what will happen when it finally cools down. We hear thunder far away.

September 6th

We report: of this day filled with clouds from morning to evening, we had no sunset expectations. Through the east-facing window, however, we noticed distant fields dazzled in red light. We scrambled out, wound up at a deserted parking lot, minutes before streetlamps turned on.

September 5th

We report: the clouds looked taller and taller as the darkness took over, like a little cup of water that got spilled into a thrashing ocean. Each minute of the nightfall was another cyanotype of gigantism, and in turn, we felt smaller and smaller, prone to vanishing in the vast.

September 4th

We report, unsure whether the storm has ceased yet: the clouds are twisting, tangled up waters crashing at the edges of the sky. All the rain is still in the air, and the cold damp is keeping us alert. The sky already looks new to us. The wind is changing direction again.

September 3rd

We report: we are here with our expert, watching the light change. We close our eyes against the dusty wind, we feel the sunshine move, hot and red. The clouds are pressing against the top of our head, and we squint our eyes tighter. Our expert brushes an eyelash off our cheek.

September 2nd

We report after walking in circles trying to find the perfect sunset spot. The sun has been moving further west ahead of the autumn equinox, and we could not see much anymore at the last spot. The streets are quiet as we walk around; we hear swallows, and blinds rolling shut.

September 1st

We report: we are just about to go to bed when a blue flash illuminates our room, and we immediately start counting, slowly. One, two, three... Thunder shakes the floor; the storm is right next door. Through the window, we see a lightning bolt take shape. It stays for a moment.

August 31st

We report on the last day of August: the sky is being overtaken at a sluggish pace. There was first a veil that thickened through the morning, and now, in the afternoon, the hills on the horizon are being washed away by the clouds. We see the path of rain over there.

August 30th

We report: we have opened two windows in opposite directions of the house, and it has created a draft. Just a breeze at first that got the curtains to sway, but now it is nothing short of a gust blowing through the rooms. As usual, we cannot bring ourselves to close the windows.

August 29th

We report: from way down below the horizon, the sun still projects precious few rays high up the sky. The clouds all start to blend into the atmosphere, featureless patches of grey and blue while dusk moves in. The highway traffic in the distance sounds different in the dark.

August 28th

We report: it smells like dry ferns in the undergrowth even as the humidity is beginning to permeate the air. Our shoes are covered in dust, and full of pebbles. Our expert is whispering for fear of spooking some bats. We do not recall ever seeing bats in this place.

August 27th

We report on a drizzly morning at sea: we have been combating a persistent seasickness with little to no success. When the waves get gentler, we manage to get a better look at the coast. There is a northern gannet circling the boat from afar, looking for the right moment to dive.

August 26th

We report: noon, the moon is still high in the sky. This is the last quarter, even though we were rather certain that the full moon was only two days ago. Our expert had to show us a calendar, and explain time to us for a little bit. The temperature is back up after a short dip.