March 23rd

We report as we are getting swallowed into the eddies of the sky: there is a lukewarm breeze brushing our ankles, but the wind on our ears is icy. A minute later, it all gets switched up, and it starts raining. We get the feeling that the clouds are tangled up for a reason.

March 22nd

We report: every cloud that has come to the sky today has been stretched from one horizon to the opposite end of the sky. This speaks to the languidness of this sunny day, that nothing seems to move on or over or out; the same clouds, in the same sky, for the forever of today.

March 21st

We report as we are attempting to pinpoint the smell of sunrise: perhaps the colour of the clouds makes a difference. Perhaps pink is a little bit sweet, just a splash in the aroma of fresh-fallen rain, and the new growth of grass. We inhale some drizzle and sneeze a few times.

March 20th

We report: the sky has spent the day putting layers on. The thin cirrus of the morning warm thickened until we could not find the sun anymore, and then we could feel the cold sting our eyes in the wind. The path to spring is a winding one, but we gladly walk the detours.

March 19th

We report in the late morning, when we have had enough time to figure out today might just be a rainy day. We can see new leaves in the trees encountering rain for the first time, a shiver that shakes branches. The showers are brief, but also heavy and numerous.

March 18th

We report: there is a small tuft of white bravely facing the immensity of the blue sky all on its lonesome, certainly confronting its own individuality and whatnot. With nothing else happening weatherwise at the moment, at least not visibly, all our focus is on the one cloud.

March 17th

We report as we are leaving the night behind: our breath fogs pale between the sun and us, and the sun rings red in the dewy air. It was not supposed to be this cold, but our usual suspect, the humidity, has us hunched up against the slight breeze. Our expert is in a cheery mood.

March 16th

We report: the stars find us as we move in the dark before we find them, and they seem a little closer than usual. We whisper the names of the ones we recognise, and our expert corrects us on more of them than we care to admit. We turn a torch on, and the stars move away.

March 15th

We report in transience: there is not much time for the sky today, or so we try to convince ourselves. In truth, we steal moments, shapes and colours, and guess at the temperature of the light. We crack a window to let in the smell of the rain, and the wind slams it wide open.

March 14th

We report: at this moment, whether we were very busy, whether we had a purpose to fill, we do not remember. We can only treat the little wild part of ourselves to the windy sunshine that stopped us in our tracks. There is an echo of all the times we stood in the sun before.

March 13th

We report under the stare of the full moon: we thought we had missed the sunset, but the sun waits for us longer and longer every day. Winter is still lingering in our bones, however, and there is the sharp sting of the unexpected, forgotten cold of mid-March. We do not linger.

March 12th

We report: the sunset has dragged us deep underwater, slowly sapping every colour but blue from the atmosphere. We hear the sounds of the nearby highway especially well tonight, a constant stream of noise which wallpapers the back of our mind; something of the damp in the air.

March 11th

We report as it is just starting to pour down: we heard thunder over the valley a while ago, but nothing came out of it at first. We were starting to wonder about the nature of the sound, and whether we had forgotten what thunder is like, when a distant, low rumble sounded again.

March 10th

We report: there is a cloud of jackdaws circling the neighbourhood, a proper weather phenomenon as far as we are concerned. We have been looking for the sun, always a splash of light in the distance which disappears once we get closer, a cold mirage we cannot reach.

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.