January 29th

We report during rainy golden hour: we got to a high point expecting a rainbow that is not coming. We can wait a little bit longer if the rain does not get much heavier. In the meantime, we watch a flock of gulls shimmering in the distance, loud even from this far away.

January 28th

We report: this afternoon, most of the clouds are mingling in the distance. This state of things has become a little bit foreign to us over the past few months. We find our mind heading towards spring for a moment, as an experiment, just to test the feel of it.

January 27th

We report: all the rivers left their beds last night, and some fields are now ponds, and the ponds are now lakes. All day long, we have seen and heard water around us in places it should not be, and it rained and hailed again, too. It is late when the clouds part for good.

January 26th

We report: last days of January, and winter still has a long way to go. We see between scrawny trees the extra hour of daylight that has been earned back, and we really, really cling to it. The wind has a whistling, howling quality that we only hear around this time of the year.

January 25th

We report from a hollow in a cloud: extremely cold at this height, but everything is light and shade, and we cannot see the ground from here. The cloud where we are is at mid-altitude, but we watch it expand above us, and we watch the lower clouds move very fast beneath our feet.

January 24th

We report: the sun is obscured by the clouds, but there is a bright castaway to the side - almost brighter than the sun itself. The weather has been frazzled all day, so we came out in full rain gear, but the scales will not dip one way or another. We end up needing sunglasses.

January 23rd

We report at dawn, in a place where it does not snow very often. Our expert attempted to wake us up when the snow was falling in the middle of the night, but we did not even remember it upon waking up. We slept well, so we cannot bring to ourselves to regretting it too badly.

January 22nd

We report: we heard somewhere that the moon is pulling away from Earth at the rate of 3.8 centimetres a year. All around, we know this will not amount to a noticeable difference over the span of our life. We still think we ought to find a way to bring it back closer to us.

January 21st

We report under especially cloudy clouds. When the clouds are like this, we have a hard time thinking back to a time when the sky was blue (though it was only yesterday). Curiously, there is not even a hint of precipitation; it is cloudy simply for the sake of it.

January 20th

We report: this morning, the clouds weigh nothing, and the sun is high. It is so bright outside that it is a while before we can fully open our eyes, but it is hard to feel irritated when the light feels so invigorating. There is excited chatter between two blackbirds in a tree.

January 19th

We report on the train: it is a little too early for the sunset, so the overhead lights are still off, but this surely is sunset light already. The specks of dust and old rain stains on the windows are glitter. Across the aisle, our expert’s face is outlined in gold.

January 18th

We report: we chance a last look at the sky before going to sleep, out of habit. We think we know it will be too cloudy to see anything, but we can never go to bed without a last look. We remember why that it is upon seeing the stars. A bit of fog moves between constellations.

January 17th

We report in the shadow of this large, dark cloud: there was hail earlier, and we know this is hail again. We should perhaps get out of its path, but we feel hypnotised by the way this cloud is eating the light, the ravenous thing. Its underbelly seems to dip from its own weight.

January 16th

We report: when we listened to weather predictions this morning, and no rain was announced for the whole day, we heard our expert snort quietly. It did not take very long for them to be justified. It was true, however, that it sometimes did not rain, and the sky was blue then.

January 15th

We report in the pink few minutes of sunrise. In the morning, the sun veers more and more northeast from its wintry southeast position - although it is not any warmer that we can tell. We follow a host of sparrows from tree to tree as we are trying to dodge a very thin drizzle.

January 14th

We report: there is enough fog that we keep wondering whether there is something wrong with our eyes. We could easily get lost in there. The landmarks we take note of disappear in short distance, and we do not see them whenever we retrace our steps. Luckily, we are not lost.

January 13th

We report in generally stormy weather: it is quite windy, and quite rainy as well. Nothing is terrible, but there is a lot of weather happening, and it is reflected in big, liquid clouds spanning several lengths of sky. We notice that some leaves had yet to fall from their trees.

January 12th

We report: mid-morning, the moon is firmly past its upper culmination, and on its way to the horizon. It is waning, a week away from the new moon. In the nighttime, it is a late visitor we see when we should not be awake; in the daytime, it is a wild cryptid we stumble upon.

January 11th

We report on the road, after our expert filled the petrol tank. Our fingers jump across clouds behind the window, the way we used to do it as a child; it is still covered in droplets of past heavy rain, weeping sideways from the speed. The wet road looks like it is on fire.

January 10th

We report: when we come here, we know it will be much windier than everywhere else, and in the winter, the ocean wind is always harsh. It gets in our ears and rearranges every thought and memory we have ever had, until we too feel like wind and water. This is why we come here.