October 28th

We report: this is as much of the sunset as we can see over the roofs tonight. We could run off to try and see it more clearly, more vibrantly, but it would likely already be over by the time we would find a good spot. Besides, we feel content enough with the view at the moment.

October 27th

We report from tired thoughts to blurry steps, we were thrown out of bed - or torn from it, depending on the perspective. Time seems to have warped as to have pushed the sunrise much later than we were used to. Even the sun has not fully woken up yet, so why should we be up?

October 26th

We report: it goes dark. It is already a little late in the afternoon, so we know that it will only get darker today. We watch the rain over there, trying to judge whether we are in its direct path. As time passes, we realise that it is useless; we will get drenched.

October 25th

We report in regards to clouds news: we are witnessing a transition from clear blues to a potential full coverage. The clouds are changing shapes, becoming thicker, but at this moment, our expert's diagnosis is altocumulus stratiformis translucidus perlucidus. We agree, probably.

October 24th

We report: out for the sunset this evening, we crossed paths with the storm chaser that we had met during the summer. He looked a little bit out of his element, so we sat with him and told him about blue skies and slow winds. He seemed curious, if nothing else.

October 23rd

We report: our throat sometimes catches at nightfall. The emotion is tough to identify, neither sadness, relief, or joy - something muddled that comes from a hidden corner of our mind, that stirs when the light dims. In autumn, it visits us a little bit earlier every day.

October 22nd

We report: we were not expecting the sun to work this hard today. Through rain and hail, while the clouds were but a blanket covering the whole sky, the sun remained somehow visible, invariably found a window or a door through which it could slip. We feel moved.

October 21st

We report: the clear sky let us think that the morning would be chilly, and we bundled up accordingly. However, it is rather mild out. We keep expecting our breath to condense, but it remains unseen. Luckily, our expert made the opposite assumption; we hand them our scarf.

October 20th

We report at dusk: this is the lost and found of this day. A few stray bits of sunlight, pocket lint and the clouds that never made it to the sky. We can just about make out the words that we forgot mid-sentence, and the text we failed to send our expert earlier.

October 19th

We report: the street lamps have all been turned off, but this is a bright night. The air is sharp and dank, in a way that imposes wakefulness; the smallest breeze feels glacial. The moon is strong through the clouds, and we think of high tides and tall waves in the dark.

October 18th

We report in the midst of October rain: we walk gingerly for fear of slipping. It is that type of treacherous rain that turns pavements into ice rinks. Meanwhile, the trees are still mostly full of leaves, but the sap has gotten slow to reach the tips of branches. No wind today.

October 17th

We report: it is the first day in a few weeks when it has not rained, at least as far as we are aware. It came close a few times, but our hand stayed dry whenever we held it out. The clouds moved along, puddles dried, and there was a quiet breeze on a quiet day.

October 16th

We report as our expert is taking notes: it smells like smoke outside, and we do have to wonder whether it could be the sun burning out. Our expert reminds us about chimneys. The sunset light moves on, bronze turning to ashes. The sun is always busy elsewhere.

October 15th

We report: the night sky got dark sooner than we expected tonight, but we did not think much of it. It also got brighter a lot sooner than we had expected a few hours later, when lightning struck. The flash revealed unseen oceans and mountains among the clouds.

October 14th

We report in the early evening: the sun is fixed right there like a lighthouse, piercing through the clouds. The air pressure is stable, there is not much wind. On the horizon, the weather looks the same as it has been all afternoon. We think time might have stopped altogether.

October 13th

We report: today, it rained five times, and the sun came out six times. Then, there was the time when the sun was out, but it was also raining. And when it was cloudy, but it was not raining. There was also a time when only a few raindrops fell. We are trying hard to keep track.

October 12th

We report about the way autumn has been slipping in, the increasingly long shadows and the brisk nights, and all the small details we forget year to year. Everything is damp, there is gold in the sunshine, and time seems to move faster, days stumbling upon their own feet.

October 11th

We report: it is morning, though it feels like anything but. The clouds are sliding off the sky that is sliding off the landscape that is sliding off time itself. What is ahead of us is revealed at the cost of what is behind us. We wonder how a day can be born out of the fog.

October 10th

We report as it finally starts to rain: the surface of the pond was once a mirror, but it has dulled out under the drizzle. The white noise starts low, then fills our ears when the rain comes in earnest. We stop walking for a moment to let it drown everything else out.

October 9th

We report: there was a very short time window during which the sky was more blue than grey today, and we were struck by the serenity of this fuzzy cloud. Now that the sky is overcast again, we like to think this one is still floating in the same spot, unbothered.