September 22nd

We report: the sunset was mostly over by the time we went out, and it was already dark enough that we were looking for our feet on the ground. More bats than birds, their lopsided flight swooping low in odd curves. The lights turn on, street by street, and the clouds turn grey.

September 21st

We report: this morning, the mountains are drowned in clouds. We could perhaps live here, where the air is thin and crisp, when the sun is busy taking precious, careful steps to rise. For a moment, we do not think about what will happen when we move on from this specific minute.

September 20th

We report a few hours after we hung the washing out to dry: this is rain, it absolutely is rain. Our expert confidently told us it would not rain this morning, and we listened to them. We keep feeling phantom raindrops. We have half a mind to take the laundry in.

September 19th

We report: we spend too much time thinking of what is summer and what is autumn in those September days. We ponder on smells and temperatures, foggy mornings and sunny evenings, "it is quite chilly today, isn't it" and "when is the equinox again?". Meanwhile, the birds fly south.

September 18th

We report right at the very end of the day: the sun has gotten to be a very odd shape as it is dipping into the water. A hot drop of hydrogen, helium, carbon, nitrogen and the like, about to boil the ocean dry as we helplessly stand by. Our expert says this happens every day.

September 17th

We report: we had a heated debate with our expert over the phase of the moon. We were convinced that the calendar promised a full moon tomorrow, but our expert said it was already full the day before. As it were, we were both correct. The moon stayed silent through the argument.

September 16th

We report: we have had the sentiment of looking at the sky through curtains, this morning. It may be that there is rain hanging somewhere between the clouds and us, or a little bit of fog remaining from the dawn. Perhaps we have not scrubbed all the sleep from our eyes.

September 15th

We report: the sun is not the same anymore. We kept track of it throughout this day, and we saw how it skims the clouds and the top of the trees, how it has started circling around shadows more and more. We still got a little bit too pink when we stayed out in the open, though.

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.