November 2025
November 2nd
We report as the wind picks up in the mountains: here where the trees are rare and frail things, the thinnest breeze sweeps us over such that it is difficult to walk against the tide. Rain breaks through the clouds in short bursts. We do our best not to get our hair in our mouth.
November 1st
We report: November emerges in the sunshine, almost too bright to believe. Through the curtains, the light had that golden glow of a low autumn sun. We begin to see some brown among the trees that have not been shaken out by the wind. The cackle of a jay follows us on our walk.
November 4th
We report: there is a weight to this morning, like the day was fully formed as soon as there was light in the sky. The sunrise does not hold for our waking up, so we have to be here with our eyes very open, and our mind very alert. We left the smell of coffee and toast behind.
November 3rd
We report: since the sky is oddly bright, we look for the moon, finding it pretending to be full (as you do). It sits in knots of cirrus, like a particularly talented spider on its web. Our expert gasps at the discovery of a moon dog, brilliant remanence of second-hand sunshine.
November 5th
We report in the mid-afternoon light, which it seems is in fact the evening light. The sun is trailing along behind low clouds, casting a golden something in the air. Our expert‘s coat is too thick for the mild temperature, but they insist on wearing it, visibly red in the face.
November 7th
We report in the complete absence of the sun: it is as dark as we remember it from previous nights, when the sun also was not there. We are counting all the other suns that we are now able to observe. Our expert insists that we do not need to count stars every time we see them.
November 6th
We report: even with the weight of the sky, the clouds are rushing by. There is no time even for rain now, only the obfuscation of daylight, and the impression of a torrent streaming across the sky. The same few spots of blue curiously remain open through it all.
November 11th
We report in the tall grass that remains when ferns have dried up and wilted. There is a skylark practicing its lilting flight across the meadows, the only moving part of this hushed morning. We follow the desire paths of foxes and boars along the trees, trying to dodge cobwebs.
November 8th
We report: a lot of the time, when we think about November during all the other months of the year, it is something like this; that or the rain, but there has not been as much of that so far. In this way, as all our memories match up, we live in all of our Novembers at once.
November 9th
We report in the deep afternoon, which is not very deep these days - one step to the side, and the sunset already grabs us by our feet. In the meantime, there is something really good in the clouds today, in their willingness to bloom into the light. We remember why we look up.
November 21st
We report: at last, the chaos in the sky accurately represents the chaos of the weather we have been observing lately. We reckon we shall meet maximum entropy at any moment. This, at least, is something we know of November, a device of constant, unexpected changes.
November 10th
We report: we stepped out of the train station, and the whole sky fell on our head, all at once, and it was hail, too. We considered walking in that weather for a second, but the sky continued on falling, so we decided against it. We stood there, dripping on the tiled floor.
November 12th
We report: some clouds have taken it upon themselves to kickstart the sunset before the rest of the sky. First, the threads of gold that snag onto our eyelashes, and then the rush of humidity that takes hold of the air. We feel sparks and shivers in the crook of our neck.
November 13th
We report in a moment of infinite sky, when the bird that is flying the highest looks like it might be in outer space, a minuscule white dot floating among the highest cirrus of the atmosphere. It makes us take a big breath, knowing that we could not possibly run out of air.
November 14th
We report: after the fact, we think we drove through the rainbow, or by it, or under it. We cannot recall how it went exactly, although there were a lot of light and colours, and the rain glittered. And then, the rainbow faded so soon anyway, the whole moment felt like a dream.
November 15th
We report on a day that we stumbled through, tired, our mind stuck somewhere else. Only now, with the stars above our head, do we feel a little awake. Distant houses watch us with their orange eyes, but we do not feel observed, and we find our solace in this darkness.
November 16th
We report: the sunset is on the wind, the colours are moving down its flow. There is sun in our eyes, somehow, even though we are almost certain that it ought to be behind the horizon by now. We watch a paper bag tumble down the street with an odd sense of awe.
November 17th
We report in the early afternoon, when the sun is still high and white. Something has changed in the atmospheric pressure, after weeks of the same. We do not know the exact correlation between all these warm, cold fronts, anticyclones and depressions… But we know it is cold now.
November 18th
We report: we felt cold, so we walked fast, and now we feel too warm. This is the way it goes. In the clouds, corroding steel wool is unraveling, scratching up the whole sky across. Whatever bird we see is flying near the ground. We hear hail coming in the distance.
November 19th
We report after sunset, looking out towards the east. The weak glow on the clouds is like someone has turned off the light, but left the door ajar as they went. The nightlight flickers; we get to see the last cloud melt into the night before it starts raining.
November 20th
We report on a day spent watching clouds rise, and then fall as soon as they stopped soaring, unable to hold their shapes. We feel the loss of each degree of temperature as the evening goes on, our numb face when we talk. Hailstones are gathered in strange places on the ground.
November 22nd
We report as we are looping our scarf for the second time, and our expert is looking for their gloves. It has been cold for a few days, and we know it still is just from looking through the window. This morning, we noticed the rain from last night had frozen over on windshields.
November 23rd
We report: if we find colours in the deep night sky, we have to wonder how many of them are of our imagination, with our mind gone soft and mushy in the darkness. There is rhythm in the pitter patter of rain and dew dripping from foliage, keeping us grounded despite it all.
November 24th
We report when the dawn chorus is at its loudest, even over the morning traffic. All edges of the world are still blurry, whether it is from our sleep-filled eyes, or the simple fact of the dim light. It is chilly, and we are not all the way present, but we feel a little warm.
November 25th
We report: around noon, the air is dry and the sky is blue like it has never rained before. It feels this way, despite the full gutters, the puddles, the mud we track wherever we go. The sun is as bright as it gets in late November, and the wind is a whistle instead of a howl.
November 26th
We report as different skies meet into one: somewhere to our right, and to our left alike, something different is happening. We have to choose where to look, which is a common motive of heartbreak we suffer from. Worst of all, there comes a time when we must look away entirely.
November 27th
We report: it is yet another beast that rose high in the sky at the last possible moment of the day. We could only follow it, and in the cold, we saw it reach across the sky with its strange arms and legs. Our expert looked at it with binoculars, and affirms it was only a cloud.
November 28th
We report about the corner of the sky where the sunset happened. Ultimately, the sunset was happening everywhere at that time, but the stratocumulus in this corner were carrying all of the blaze of the day. We cling to the warmth in the light because this is what we do best.
November 29th
We report: in a matter of a handful of minutes, the wind took this contrail and did something odd with it. Our expert is frowning loudly by our side, undoubtedly reviewing their understanding of fluid dynamics in their mind. The steam over their cooling tea makes the same shapes.
November 30th
We report in the loose bits of the afternoon, a moment that has neither hour nor minute to place it. Long have we given up our pursuits of forecast for this day - sometime after the second shower, and before the third wisp of rainbow. We let ourselves get carried through it all.