February 17th

We report at the edge of the morning: we went quite a few days without rain, which is odd for this time and place. Last night, though it was all heard but none of it was seen, it rained almost sunset to sunrise. It shows in the colours, the smells, and the rivers in the gutters.

February 16th

We report: we thought the sky would be clear tonight, and it is, in fact, clear. A rarity in the accuracy of our predictions. For once, we do not try to identify stars and constellations; there are a few too many, and we are a little too interested in going to sleep.

February 15th

We report in the grey afternoon: a pearl appeared, suspended between two curtains of clouds, pale light ringing. It lost its shine when the wind rose. We took the long way home, hoping for another reveal if we waited it out, but we lost track of time and got caught by nightfall.

February 14th

We report: the sky remains broadly clear until around midday, when clouds seem to bloom out of contrails. Somehow, it gets brighter then, the sun catching onto the white of the cirrus. We try to follow the labyrinth of straight lines and crossings with our eyes.

February 13th

We report upon leaving the embrace of sleep: the morning light is almost tangible, something we would try to grab at like trickling tap water. We can feel it brush past us as we walk, a ghostly presence. It floods our eyes and changes them forever, something it does every day.

February 12th

We report: there is a remarkable blend of circumstances contributing to our feeling very cold tonight. Something about a bit of fatigue, the humidity, then the wind, strong enough to exacerbate the humidity, but not strong enough to dispel the humidity. At least, the moon is out.

February 11th

We report: our expert is feeling better, so we went on a walk together this morning. We saw some green, the specific green of new growth, on the tip of a branch. The quality of the light is changing every day, that much more intense and crisp. We keep track of it all.

February 10th

We report: our expert mysteriously took ill a few days ago, and they are still recovering. In the meantime, we take solace in the companionship of a murder of crows. Well, we did earlier, but they are still following us after a couple of hours, and we do not know what to think.

February 9th

We report while storm clouds are gathering: we think the light should not be this bright when it is this late, and the clouds are so heavy. We have learned over the years, however, that our preconceptions about the weather matter very little. It starts raining all at once.

February 8th

We report: the small bitten off moon is getting bigger and lower in the sky when the sunset comes, and we know the next lunar phase is just around the corner. For just a few nights, the moon and the stars politely share the sky, the pinpricks of light not yet flooded out.

February 7th

We report while our expert is standing in the sea, up to their thighs, in early February. They are shivering, still close enough to the shore that we can hear their teeth chattering. We pretend not to notice their voice shaking when they insist the water is nice.

February 6th

We report: the weather has been the stable kind of unstable, hovering between two states for most of the day. Wherever the sun is, it is only coming through intermittently, casting pale shadows and caressing our face with lukewarm rays. The breeze smells a little briny.

February 5th

We report as the sky darkens in bright light, the sun is setting in all the puddles at once. It is again a sunset steeped in rain, and the gaps in the clouds seem uncertain, constantly shifting. We do not stop for very long to watch, since we are wearing the wrong shoes for rain.

February 4th

We report: tonight, the sky looks like us a few billion years ago, or so we like to think. The very bare bones of us, at least. The clouds that we only see after stewing in darkness for a long time remind us of distant galaxies. It is rather cold in outer space.

February 3rd

We report on a long hike: once, we mapped out the trees around here, but it was a different season, and they now all look very different. We did it again, methodically, walked for hours until we had to look for our feet below our knees. The smell of the woods is in our hair.

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.