November 21st

We report: late sunset, the light is finely combing through the clouds. It is freezing out, and even though we took care to bundle up, we feel it, deep in our bones. This was a windy day, but only a light breeze remains. It is enough to dry out our eyes as we walk.

November 20th

We report at an untold time of the night: our expert talked about how it "smells like snow" while we were out yesterday. We thought that was a dubious statement. We were wrong, of course, although happily so. The layer is thin, and it has not stuck on the roads yet.

November 19th

We report: the rain today was relentless, stubborn enough to make appearances every hour of the day. The sun came out just before sunset, and the rain tried to wash out even the rainbow - but rainbows, rain, sunshine, unstoppable force, immovable object, and so on.

November 18th

We report about our first thorough look at the sky today: it looks especially big, and the clouds look especially distant. We feel slightly ridiculous about missing their proximity - just yesterday, some cumulus were hovering just above our head. It is a little bit colder still.

November 17th

We report: there are more than a few raindrops on our hand when we hold it out. This is a drawn-out dawn, pulled back by the dense rain clouds. The colours have pushed through out of nowhere, vivid and sharp like the icy air. Our expert's red ears are also exceptionally vivid.

November 16th

We report during a nighttime walk: we are discovering the moon through darkness over and over again, until the clouds finally let it appear. As the full moon was yesterday, we are looking for the one percent of shadow that should alter its shape. There is nothing to see here.

November 15th

We report: our umbrella is lying open on the floor by the front door, spilling into indoor puddles. The kettle starts to boil as the rain picks back up; the white noise of it all is scrambling our thoughts. Our expert comes home, and leaves their own wet umbrella by ours.

November 14th

We report: mid-November, in those few hours when the sun is high in the sky, it is akin to a supernova - a mass of light we always gravitate towards. Summer is still trailing in the back of our mind, like a spot of sunshine on the floor, yet we are already midway through autumn.

November 13th

We report too many colours too early; our field of vision is reduced to blurry shapes of searing intensity until our brain is able to process them better. We forget about how vibrant sunrises and sunsets can be in autumn, as though to make up for shorter and dimmer days.

November 12th

We report from the ink spill of after midnight: with the wind and the dark and the rainy afternoon, the chill climbs up from our toes to our ankles. We feel our cold knees scrape against our trousers as we walk. The stars are shivering up there, caught up in smoke and soot.

November 11th

We report: the shape comes into view slowly, a mirage over the trees. From a distance, it is difficult to remember that each dot represents a single bird. Barely a wing out of formation, the single movement of a wave coming in and going out on the fields. It makes sense, somehow.

November 10th

We report in the late morning, almost midday: it feels much earlier than proper time tells us it is. At this time of the season, clocks and watches make very little sense to us, as we watch the low sun make a tentative path through the sky. It still feels warm enough.

November 9th

We report: we keep weights on our feet so we do not float up to the sky. We sometimes take them off at the end of the day - they get to be heavy. Tonight was one such moment, a long lapse of time during which our feet did not touch the ground. We know where we were then.

November 8th

We report as the late afternoon meets the early evening: much is still happening, though it is dark. It is now the time of the year when sparrows gather in trees and bushes to produce as much sound as possible. The strong wind is barely muffling any of their chattering.

November 7th

We report: the morning light is attempting to gather itself in spite of various hurdles. That is how it goes. We are remembering the things that we like so much about autumn - the moodiness, the thrown expectations. The stubborn days when time collapses on itself.

November 6th

We report: the longer we stare at clouds, the less we understand them. We never thought we would solve any mysteries by looking at them for the appropriate amount of time; but nowadays, the very existence of even the most ordinary cloud constitutes an enigma to us.

November 5th

We report: there are ghosts on the horizon, strings of sunlight that are hanging on to the cooling dusk. They slowly pass on - they do, they always do, never have we seen them last the night through. We let our heaviest thoughts get taken by the transience of light.

November 4th

We report as we stare at the pit at the centre of the universe: we can feel ourselves drift this way, slowly and surely. It is north of the north, a spiral of a maelstrom, spinning counter-clockwise towards infinity. We regain our footing with a yawn (the night is young yet).

November 3rd

We report: it was a drizzly day throughout, which is something we can respect. In the early afternoon, we caught sight of some good clouds, and in the distracting moment of euphoria that followed, we slipped on the wet pavement. Our profession is a dangerous one indeed.

November 2nd

We report about an event that has rarely been seen lately: a sunny morning. Over the past month, fog has been our most common guest at the breakfast table. However, the sky was clear when we woke up, and even now that the clouds are coming out, they do not seem to be taking over.