February 2nd

We report: this wind is meant for moving things along, a steady wave rather than a succession of gusts. There is no chasing and pushing, barely even any rushing. We stay for some minutes, watching the clouds each on their path, and how their shapes change along the way.

February 1st

We report as the first day of February begins: there are a few jackdaws circling us as we walk along the thawing brook. There is a narrow stream of water, slowly eroding its icy banks. We tread the path carefully, as our expert almost fell face first in the mud earlier.

January 31st

We report: we constantly underestimate the fabric of our universe, even as we are aware that it is a much larger, much more colourful tapestry than we could ever conceive. For every little thing that has been understood and explained, there are millions more that escape meaning.

January 30th

We report: we watched the rain come from a long distance, when the horizon blurred, and when the wind pushed the blue sky away. It is falling at an angle, varying in intensity. Sometimes, we think it stops, but it picks up again immediately, much louder. We breathe raindrops in.

January 29th

We report about one of these days made of shifting light, unpredictable winds, short showers of rain and hail. We feel like we are endlessly catching up to the events above us, walking against the elements when they are not pushing us. But the sun is so bright when it comes out.

January 28th

We report: there is rock salt on the sides of the roads, and black ice on the parking lot where our expert's car was parked through the night. A surprising quantity of birds can be heard in the countryside. We find a few gathered around mistletoe in an aspen, picking at berries.

January 27th

We report in the blue: we think it is capital to spend some time in the blue whenever possible. The blue evens everything out, fills in the cracks and quiets down the other shades too. We think we could take the blue with us to the end of the world, a lovely thing to keep.

January 26th

We report: the storm starts raging sometime around dawn. The clouds had been gathering for hours, and there was rain long before thunder. Our expert is sleepily muttering about the colour of the flashes, and black-body radiation. The flyaways dance across the sky.

January 25th

We report in the last handful of January days: we keep thinking about the sun lately. It is showing up more often, for longer periods of time. It is much too early to expect spring, but it is on our mind nonetheless. It slips away when we feel the morning wind on our neck.

January 24th

We report: the way this sunset is going, we think that we have enough light remaining for another day. We could simply pretend that this is not a sunset, and perhaps the sun would even rise back up a little bit. We would try, even, if we were not so eager to go to sleep.

January 23rd

We report while the night is thickening, darkness grabbing at our feet. A few stars have caught onto the bare branches of a tree, taking the place of leaves for a moment. Meanwhile, our expert is disturbing the peace by winding up their faltering dynamo torch every few minutes.

January 22nd

We report: this is a messy morning, unsure of itself. It is pelting down with rain, and yet the sunrise is somehow coming through, soaking the clouds. Our expert took us up a path where ice patches are melting down into slushy mud, creating a sluggish stream under our feet.

January 21st

We report in the wake of a dream: we took a nap mid-afternoon while it was pouring down. We fell asleep to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof, and woke up to a ray of sunshine on our pillow. The whole sky has opened up, and the puddles are quicksilver in the light.

January 20th

We report: though the frost melts easily during the day, when we reach dusk once again, we can see car windshields fog over with ice. Still, though winter's hold is still strong, we can feel something stirring in the light. Our expert remarks on the sunset being a little late.

January 19th

We report on a brittle January morning: the dew point is rather low, and along with the wind, we think that we might freeze solid if we stay out too long. We count the handful of remaining stars in the sky, and the air inexplicably smells like dawn, brisk and sweet.

January 18th

We report: the stratus fractus of wet weather have come, and we are wondering as to what kind of wet weather we are supposed to be having. Until very recently, we were quite certain the weather would remain very dry throughout the day. Our expert puts on a second coat.

January 17th

We report at the shorter end of the afternoon: the light has come to glaze the world with honey. Though it is the coldest it has been since the early morning, there is a warmth to the clear sky. Our expert is still looking for the presence of clouds somewhere - typical behaviour.

January 16th

We report: for the second time now, we struggle in our attempt to button up our coat with our numb fingers. There is a robin hopping around the feet of bare bushes, rummaging through sodden leaves for worms. There is that complicated smell of white rot fungus in the air.

January 15th

We report long past our bedtime, whatever it is meant to be: the moon has prematurely vanished from the night sky, and we unfortunately do not have the patience to seek it out for very long. The clouds are moving at a leisurely pace, and we feel rather sleepy.

January 14th

We report: there is only a light breeze on the beach, but it is enough to carry a substantial amount of sea-spray. Only the ocean can tire us out this way, make us bone-weary, and the cold has gone to our feet despite all our layers. We also feel particularly alive.