November 29th

We report: the sunset is revealing clouds that were too thin to see during the day. The light is catching them from below, like a last-minute attempt to get attention on what the sky was doing today. It is working for us. We watch the clouds fade back into dusty blue.

November 28th

We report with a shivering expert by our side; a car drove by just as our eyes had gotten used to darkness, full beam headlights on. We had to wait for a little longer. At first, we mistook the milky way for clouds, which is not that inaccurate. It is only a matter of distance.

November 27th

We report: the sky is running after itself, always more of it to come when it is all swept away, always something new to tell. Right now, there is only so much we can listen of it, but the energy behind the constant movement above us is pushing us forward with long strides.

November 26th

We report in the afternoon of a bright day; our expert was under the impression that it would rain some more, but instead, the sky cleared. Instead of getting warmer, it got colder, the dry air biting at our cheeks. We pulled out our sunglasses after a long time.

November 25th

We report: the days have been staunchly overcast, lately - all sorts of overcast, nothing monotonous about this weather. We watch the atmospheric pressure maps with rapt attention to determine the kind of overcast we will see today. The sunrise brings a few colours to the rain.

November 24th

We report in the few loose minutes before dawn, the ones that we all pretend to count carefully as though we were able to measure that stretch of time. We are sitting in the grass with our expert as they take notes, slowly realising they were lying about how dry the ground is.

November 23rd

We report: we are here in an empty parking lot, late November. It is pouring, and the wind is making all sorts of sounds that have us a little concerned. The clouds are getting caught on bare branches, and though it is early afternoon still, it seems the sun could be lost to us.

November 22nd

We report on the cusp of changing weather, which remains our favourite kind of moment. We notice that the light is shifting; high in the sky, it is a coruscating white, casting shimmers through the atmosphere. Down here, the shadows are multiplying, and our mind goes to rain.

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.