March 9th

We report about the afterimage of this day, burnt into the sky for a few more minutes until we blink it away. The days and the night are evening out with more or less grace, each one nibbling on the other whenever possible. Tonight, though, it is a warm, gentle passing of hands.

March 8th

We report: soft grey morning, we watch the light come to the world in slow increments, same way we would watch the most vibrant sunrise. It is the same cold it has been all night, but birds have little care. We try to tell their tiny silhouettes from the last bats of the night.

March 7th

We report while the light is getting choked out by the clouds: the weight of the sky is comforting today. We saw the clouds coming in after hours of opaque white, and the sudden movement made us feel dizzy. All that water devouring the sun, and it feels peaceful, somewhat.

March 6th

We report: it has been quite the trip from the freezing temperatures of the end of the night to the curiously balmy air of this mid-afternoon. We have a lot of trouble picking out our clothes in the morning these days, but at least we saw a butterfly among burgeoning trees.

March 5th

We report on the arrival of light: by the time morning came, we had re-imagined the concept of sunrises a hundred times in our dreams. When the sun did rise, it was of course precisely different from each of these dreams; all-encompassing, it somehow carried even sound and smell.

March 4th

We report: in a couple of hours, the moon will set. It was hidden by the clouds all day, even at its peak in the mid-afternoon - at least, it was every time we checked. We had a last look before preparing for bed, and the wind revealed a minuscule crescent, lost in the smoke.

March 3rd

We report on a day that is not anything like spring: it follows that spring would not suddenly be here to stay. However, this reasoning escaped us when the sun was here yesterday. Today, we woke up to a grey sky, and it remained the same through the morning and early afternoon.

March 2nd

We report: we are not counting the movements of the sky, but we follow them from the corner of our eye. It is the same sky, pulled taut by the wind, the clouds stretched thin. We could be tricked into thinking it will not rain today, if the sun blinded us a little bit longer.

March 1st

We report about waking up in March: the sun is making great efforts to overtake the shade, even at this time of the morning. Waking up is a messy process, and we can feel it in all the early signs of spring, the clumsy steps forward, and the bleariness that we walk towards.

February 28th

We report: we have gotten to the coldest of the night, and frost has formed on every surface that can bear it, up to the sky where the clouds hold ice stars in place. In our wandering, we thaw the crystallised air and shove our numb hands deeper into our pockets.

February 27th

We report in the lingering of hazy, drizzly clouds, and sputtering pebbles on the roof. We check once for rain, and once again for hail later, and we are correct each time. Just when we start wondering about the sun, it comes around to lick the underbelly of the sky.

February 26th

We report: it was raining heavily just a few minutes ago, but our coat has already almost fully dried. The warmth of the sun has us in a bit of a daze, especially as we see brand new rain clouds come closer. The wet pavement is glistening, and our shoes are squeaking against it.

February 25th

We report that there is something corrosive about this sunrise; acidic orange clouds, biting winds, the light eating houses one after the other. The back wall of our kitchen is about to be swallowed too, all bright and golden. We have to admit that we are not much for mornings.

February 24th

We report: when the night falls today, it is indisputably a fall indeed. Between one moment and the next, a great extent of darkness comes into existence. It is a volume of nothingness that so completely eclipses the light that we briefly understand the concept of "void".

February 23rd

We report while the clouds are forming cobwebs up there: we saw the first signs of asperitas just a moment ago, and we rushed out not to miss their ephemeral formation. The wind has been going strong since yesterday night; we can see the sky rippling through waves.

February 22nd

We report: today, the sun was bright and high enough in the sky for long enough that it projected some very nice shadows on the grass. In the grass, we found small, scattered wildflowers of yellow and white (we also found a worm). We now have grass stains on our knees.

February 21st

We report with the setting sun behind our back, the thinnest belt of Venus in front of us. Today was mild, not only in temperature, but in much of everything; muted colours, a half-hearted motion towards rain, our expert's hushed tones as they speak about alpenglow.

February 20th

We report: we come to morning with sleep forgotten, and it is a wonder to us that morning is here at all. It appears to us a mysterious land, all blue and still dim, the first gleams of the day stifled by the humidity of late nights. We fall asleep in the space in between.

February 19th

We report about a rapidly evolving situation: the clouds are being folded into themselves like scrunched up balls of papers. As this is happening, it is raining the rain of oncoming storms. The drops are far apart, slow, but heavy and loud. We hear the paper crunch in the sky.

February 18th

We report: the sky of this day saw to it that it remained blue somewhat, though the clouds valiantly came at it again and again, and in numbers too. And all these clouds, after a while, joined forces to become just the one, but we could still find shreds of blue up there.