September 2025

Digital painting of a blue sky, partly covered with rough-edged, wispy white clouds, shreds and bits flying in the wind.

September 2nd

We report: the clouds are shattering, breaking away piece by piece, and we are trying to listen for it. We can already feel the next bout of rain coming in - it is the wind again, impatient, unhappy to let the sky be after a whole summer of steady heat and naked blue.

Digital painting of a sunset sky, tall, bubbly clouds expanding outwards in a lilac sky. The clouds themselves are bright pink, yellow, and the base in a darker purple.

September 1st

We report about the clouds that grew this tall only so they could get more light than everything, and everyone else. Our expert, shorter than we are, calls them greedy. We think they are practical. It is colder than it has been in months. Eventually, darkness falls everywhere.

Digital painting of a night sky, an opening in the middle of thick, dark foliage. The sky is a faded blue-indigo, filled with haloed stars.

September 4th

We report: as we were looking for some constellation or the other, the mist slowly started to thicken. The moonlight was catching in it, making it easier to see the movements of the masses of humidity, patterns of smoke in the crisp night air. Our canvas shoes were getting wet.

Digital painting of a large, textbook anvil cloud, flat at the top with fibrous bits escaping, and underneath, expanding diagonally to one side. Above the clouds, a bright blue sky.

September 3rd

We report three minutes after it stopped raining, and four minutes before it starts raining: we have never had such a clear understanding of the reason why cumulonimbus incus are called "anvil clouds". As we report, it is still expanding further against the tropopause.

September 5th

We report: we think we know where the sun is going to rise from. The stakes are not very high on this bet, and we could simply use a compass to be certain; the fact of the matter is that we would like to see the sun emerge from behind these clouds, and know we were correct.

September 7th

We report: it is impossible to predict the weather to come. There is a total absence of signs or hints as to any future precipitation or change in temperature. We are asking questions, and our expert is perplexed. The humongous cloud on the approach is absolutely no help.

Digital painting of a bright blue sky, with voluminous clouds rising into the lower third of the frame, rimmed with silver light. There are wispy cirrus sweeping the rest of the sky.

September 6th

We report in the last bright moments of the afternoon: a little bit of the summer sun has returned today, that golden warmth that almost seems to come from inside us. Still, the ground is saturated with rain, and in the shade, the humidity is bright and tangible.

September 11th

We report on a long walk: though the sky before us is some shade of clear, we keep looking over our shoulder to the one behind us. It is a silent beast that bites our ankles, its cold breath on the nape of our neck growing closer and closer. There is no escaping this one.

September 8th

We report not too long after sunset: this is what they call heat lightning - it is not heat lightning, it is simply very far away, further than it looks to be. The thunder is dissipating before we are able to hear any of it, much more fickle than the light show on the horizon.

Digital painting of a sunset sky, messy dark clouds in messy layers with vibrant gold accents. Beyond, a little bit of blue sky is visible.

September 9th

We report in the collapse of the evening: it is so windy that we think the clouds are going to come in through the window. We have no room for clouds, so we have no choice but to close it. It was too cold anyway. The birds struggle to choose the direction that they are flying in.

Digital painting of a purple sunrise sky, a bright pink sun shining through layers of clouds. The pink light is diffusing across the sky, coming through better in some spots.

September 21st

We report in the humble beginnings of light: the temperature is not that much lower than it was a few weeks ago, but we feel those degrees of difference under our skin, in the flesh near our bones. The sun is a sleepy eye between the eyelashes of clouds, slowly blinking.

Digital painting of a bright blue sky, half-filled with winding cirrus, thin layers of icy clouds in disorganised formations.

September 10th

We report: the cirrus are waves today, sea foam and salt washing up on the shore of the sky. We hear the backwash in the wind, and the gulls dive into this ocean all the very same. The tide is coming in, and the air is crisp and biting. We dissolve in the eddies of the big blue.

Digital painting: in a deep, dark blue sky, clouds are rising, almost black at their base, almost white at the top where distant light hits them. Some smaller, stray, dark clouds are floating above.

September 12th

We report: the clouds know something we do not about the morning. They are in a time zone of their own, living long minutes ahead into the future. It, at least, looks quite bright from what we can tell. We feel inclined to use those minutes for a little more sleep.

Digital painting of a sunset sky, focused on a single cloud. The sky is a gradient of twilight blue with drops of pastel green, and the cloud is a vibrant streak of orange, purple and blue.

September 13th

We report while the clouds take flight: the wind blows from the southwest following an air pressure drop. It is fierce, loud, setting the sky alight in its wake. We hear whistles as it weaves through the trees, howls when it tries to get under the roof of our home.

Digital painting of a mixed sky, blue streaked with white. Some of the clouds are long and regular, others are small and scattered cotton balls, the whole blurred by strong winds.

September 14th

We report: as it does not rain, the sky is folded and scrunched and stretched into elusive shapes. The wind goes one way, and again the other way; it is all conflict and begrudging compromise in the meetings of the clouds. Our expert has the marks of binoculars around their eyes.

September 15th

We report from the doorstep, while towel-drying our hair: we left the door open when we came in. The rain is falling straight down, crackling static scrambling the horizon. Our eyes keep shifting back to the spot of sunshine in the distance, wondering if it is raining over there.

Digital painting of a starry night sky, dark grey, with wisps of light grey, purplish clouds scattered across the frame.

September 16th

We report: the way the clouds are rushing through the sky, the stars are constantly blinking in and out of the darkness. At this late hour, with the wind in our eyes, they are all meteors to us. Our expert finds their torchlight, but it is weak and yellow, almost out of battery.

Digital painting of a sunset sky, a gradient of pale blue to orange, filled with long grey clouds, some of them crested with bright orange.

September 17th

We report walking towards the east at sunset: while the days are getting cooler, we are still living that moment of transition when crickets can be heard in the grass. It baffles us every year - our collar zipped up to our chin, and the soft chirps, vestigial crumbs of summer.

Digital painting of a blue sky, half-covered with a layer of fibrous white clouds, all spreading into the same direction, stray threads fraying in the wind.

September 18th

We report: it takes September for calf-deep puddles to form in the middle of the paths we walk. We get around them where we can, and the path gets a little wider every year. In some places, well-meaning strangers have made treacherous bridges out of rotting logs and mossy rocks.

Digital painting of a grey, cloudy sky, the sun pouring down from between the clouds in bold, dramatic sun rays, spread out across the frame.

September 19th

We report in the midst of the frantic agitation of early morning: it was already raining, we were already late, we had already forgotten our keys. We did not need the sun to make a bold statement to have us more frazzled. The rain stops for a brief moment, also distracted.

September 20th

We report: it is raining movie rain tonight, like a giant watering can is following us around. We breathe with care, lest we inhale water in the process. We have tucked our hands into our sleeves, to no avail - soon, we get the distinct feeling of being completely drenched.

Digital painting of a bright blue sky filled with wispy, messy cirrus splayed out across the frame, vaguely forming an arch.

September 22nd

We report: today, the two halves of our planet are receiving the same amount of sunlight. It is quite a large amount of sunlight, if our corner of the world is any indication. Our expert tells us that this is not how the equinox works. The cirrus knit themselves into blankets.

Digital painting of a cloudy sky, a jumble of dark grey and white clouds twisting together, small gaps of blue remaining in some spots.

September 23rd

We report as the clouds are falling upwards: we are not sure whether it is raining. We think earlier rain is still dripping from trees, and that is why we keep getting cold drops on our face; even then, the sky looks dark enough for rain. Either way, the wind is pushing us home.

Digital painting of an evening sky: blue and yellow, with long, smooth, dark blue clouds in the middle, and thinner, wispy yellow ones at the bottom of the frame. There is a V of migrating geese angled towards the right-hand side, neatly arranged.

September 24th

We report: we have been watching out for the "V" of migrating wild geese in the evening sky lately. Sure enough, we spot a skein crossing the valley tonight, high enough that we cannot hear them. Rubbing our cold hands together, we get a brief appreciation for their mission.

Digital painting of a sunset sky, a gradient of blue and orange, with a cluster of grey and bright orange clouds of various sizes off to the left-hand side of the frame.

September 25th

We report in waning sunshine: a couple of days after the equinox, we experience its lesser-known cousin, the equilux. We thought our expert was making fun of us as they spelled it out. Today, day and night are the same length. We stand here at sunset in a rare moment of balance.

Digital painting of an apple tree against a bright blue sky, red and yellow apples clear among the leaves. There are white clouds sprinkled across the sky, and a line of trees in the background.

September 26th

We report: it is a little less hot, for a shorter amount of time, but when the sun is out, it is out. We left our sunglasses in our other jacket - subconsciously, we must have thought autumn meant no sun. We are left helplessly squinting for our trouble. It is a bright day.

Digital painting of an overcast sky, grey-blue clouds of different shapes overlapping on a pale blue and white canvas.

September 27th

We report on a dark morning: we have trouble looking away from the clouds because of how windy it is there. Each minute of moving sky contains a day, with layers of greys flying over our head at different speeds, an Etch A Sketch resetting faster than we can register.

Digital painting of a dark grey night sky with a subtle gradient, filled with stars. The black horizon is sprinkled with trees and bushes.

September 28th

We report: tonight, after the moon has set, the sky is creosote, peaty depths shimmering with cold stars. Our expert slowly puts their memory to the test - the Pleiades here and Aldebaran there, Menkar in the Cetus constellation, and Capella, brighter than them all in Auriga.

Digital painting of a dramatic sunset sky, a stripe of bright yellow on the horizon, and bright orange clouds fading out to purple-grey. The clouds are wide strokes, but very thin where they fan out.

September 29th

We report during a slow burn of a sunset: first, a yellow glow on the horizon, and then the wisps of gold streaking through the sky. By the time we went out to see more, the artefacts of the sun were holding the whole thing together, delicate architecture built over an hour.

Digital painting of a white cloud in a bright blue sky. The cloud is long and thin, a little ragged on the edges, curling up into a perfect wave on its right-hand side.

September 30th

We report: we do not always know what we are looking for in the sky. Something new, probably, a revelation, or a secret, a shape only we were good enough, fast enough to see. Sometimes, something familiar, a memory or a story that we have heard before. All of it at the same time.

Next

August 2025