April 12th

We report: the clouds are all meeting here and now, very much over our head, to perform the pantomime of rain. It is something we have experienced a few times over the past week; it will look like rain, but we should not fret. No precipitation will occur. The clouds will move on.

April 11th

We report about the white sun at its zenith: the world has been bleached, and even the shadows in the sky seem weak under the light. Our eyes take a long time to adjust when we come outside, and we are hit with the smells of spring too - it is quite an intense day, it seems.

April 10th

We report: the clouds are coming alight one after the other, only for a moment each before the wind pushes them into the darkness again. Our expert is desperately trying to stifle their yawns. We wonder whether the rain is going away, or if it only just started to fall.

April 9th

We report sometime between astronomical dusk and nautical dusk - either way, the sun is now several degrees below the horizon, and the night chill has already well settled in. The cumulus congestus are still tall in the sky, leftover potential of warmer hours.

April 8th

We report while the sun is slowly moving in the sky: the clouds are following the same glacial pace in their arrival, misty droplets of white falling into waves. We know not whether the accompanying cold is because of the clouds, or clouds are appearing because of the humidity.

April 7th

We report: we do not know when it got this dark out. The sky was not clear by any means, but the clouds that have accumulated seem to have appeared all at once, a solid wall of lead - that much darker for how the sun is so bright behind us, a warm hand on the back of our neck.

April 6th

We report upon the momentary interruption of our sleep: the birds have woken us up. We contemplate spring for a moment. The trees have been slowly filling in, and it makes us restless to see the tender leaves come out. There is something boiling underground while we slumber.

April 5th

We report: the moon has been in the sky since midday, and we have been looking at it throughout the afternoon, easy to find in the blue sky. Now that dusk is here, its invisible companions reveal themselves - Mars again, Castor and Pollux, all regulars on this path.

April 4th

We report while the clouds keep gathering: the light is wavering, but making stubborn attempts to reach down. The cloud cover has been present throughout the day, but there is no longing for warmth. The sun is coming through, no matter what, and it demands our wakefulness.

April 3rd

We report: it is only with the spring that we realise the world is covered in blackthorn. The white flowers have sprouted everywhere, taking over the hills and the roadsides, reflecting the sunshine. Our expert is covered in petals when they meet us today. We do not say anything.

April 2nd

We report on an early April morning: the last few days have been unseasonably warm. We are looking for traces of that heat now, but it is nowhere to be found. Now that we are paying attention, something in the air reminds us of rain. The clouds turn a deeper red.

April 1st

We report: while the moon is still barely recovering from the new moon, Mars is just about the next brightest thing in the night sky - apart from Jupiter, but we cannot find Jupiter amidst the clouds tonight. In a few minutes, the brightest stars will start to come out too.

March 31st

We report about the twists and turns of today's weather. This morning was bright and clear, with a warm breeze, but around midday, the sky started to melt into the horizon. Since then, the clouds have been piling up, rippling and folding into one another to make room for more.

March 30th

We report: the sun rose a little to the side today, and we felt a bit uneasy about it. We have had some time to note, notice, and observe now, and we think it is all going to be fine. There has been light, warmth, and companionship in the presence of the sun, as per usual.

March 29th

We report in the vicinity of a storm, right there in the will-it-will-it-not of it. The clouds keep moving up like there is nowhere else to go, but the bugs and the birds are all flying low to the ground. There is a sense of suspension in the heavy air. The low sun flickers.

March 28th

We report: we can hear the moody calls of a tawny owl out here. We are trying to find it among bare branches while the dusk light remains, but the mistletoe shrubs in the poplars trick our eyes. In the end, the day fades away completely, and the owl flies deep into the woods.

March 27th

We report in the almost-drizzle of a late March morning. The throes of winter are still fresh on our mind, and the blanket of white on the ground brings us to snow rather than daisies at first. Once the moment passes, we get there thanks to the bees and the butterflies.

March 26th

We report: everything is constantly moving today, spinning and rolling and slipping. We get a sense of the situation at some point, but then we too must move, and nothing looks the same when we pay attention once more. We think things will settle only when the night comes.

March 25th

We report in the short hours of the evening: there is rain in our sunset, and it is spilling over everything. It is not the heaviest of rains, but because of the hour, when we look to the west, we see every last drop of sunshine falling to the ground. The puddles become oceans.

March 24th

We report: standing here before dawn, watching the sky shift while the shadows slowly recede, it feels like hearing a fanfare coming from across town. The music is already so loud, but it seems to get impossibly louder as it approaches, and here are the mediums, and now the highs