February 11th

We report: our expert is feeling better, so we went on a walk together this morning. We saw some green, the specific green of new growth, on the tip of a branch. The quality of the light is changing every day, that much more intense and crisp. We keep track of it all.

February 10th

We report: our expert mysteriously took ill a few days ago, and they are still recovering. In the meantime, we take solace in the companionship of a murder of crows. Well, we did earlier, but they are still following us after a couple of hours, and we do not know what to think.

February 9th

We report while storm clouds are gathering: we think the light should not be this bright when it is this late, and the clouds are so heavy. We have learned over the years, however, that our preconceptions about the weather matter very little. It starts raining all at once.

February 8th

We report: the small bitten off moon is getting bigger and lower in the sky when the sunset comes, and we know the next lunar phase is just around the corner. For just a few nights, the moon and the stars politely share the sky, the pinpricks of light not yet flooded out.

February 7th

We report while our expert is standing in the sea, up to their thighs, in early February. They are shivering, still close enough to the shore that we can hear their teeth chattering. We pretend not to notice their voice shaking when they insist the water is nice.

February 6th

We report: the weather has been the stable kind of unstable, hovering between two states for most of the day. Wherever the sun is, it is only coming through intermittently, casting pale shadows and caressing our face with lukewarm rays. The breeze smells a little briny.

February 5th

We report as the sky darkens in bright light, the sun is setting in all the puddles at once. It is again a sunset steeped in rain, and the gaps in the clouds seem uncertain, constantly shifting. We do not stop for very long to watch, since we are wearing the wrong shoes for rain.

February 4th

We report: tonight, the sky looks like us a few billion years ago, or so we like to think. The very bare bones of us, at least. The clouds that we only see after stewing in darkness for a long time remind us of distant galaxies. It is rather cold in outer space.

February 3rd

We report on a long hike: once, we mapped out the trees around here, but it was a different season, and they now all look very different. We did it again, methodically, walked for hours until we had to look for our feet below our knees. The smell of the woods is in our hair.

February 2nd

We report: this wind is meant for moving things along, a steady wave rather than a succession of gusts. There is no chasing and pushing, barely even any rushing. We stay for some minutes, watching the clouds each on their path, and how their shapes change along the way.

February 1st

We report as the first day of February begins: there are a few jackdaws circling us as we walk along the thawing brook. There is a narrow stream of water, slowly eroding its icy banks. We tread the path carefully, as our expert almost fell face first in the mud earlier.

January 31st

We report: we constantly underestimate the fabric of our universe, even as we are aware that it is a much larger, much more colourful tapestry than we could ever conceive. For every little thing that has been understood and explained, there are millions more that escape meaning.

January 30th

We report: we watched the rain come from a long distance, when the horizon blurred, and when the wind pushed the blue sky away. It is falling at an angle, varying in intensity. Sometimes, we think it stops, but it picks up again immediately, much louder. We breathe raindrops in.

January 29th

We report about one of these days made of shifting light, unpredictable winds, short showers of rain and hail. We feel like we are endlessly catching up to the events above us, walking against the elements when they are not pushing us. But the sun is so bright when it comes out.

January 28th

We report: there is rock salt on the sides of the roads, and black ice on the parking lot where our expert's car was parked through the night. A surprising quantity of birds can be heard in the countryside. We find a few gathered around mistletoe in an aspen, picking at berries.

January 27th

We report in the blue: we think it is capital to spend some time in the blue whenever possible. The blue evens everything out, fills in the cracks and quiets down the other shades too. We think we could take the blue with us to the end of the world, a lovely thing to keep.

January 26th

We report: the storm starts raging sometime around dawn. The clouds had been gathering for hours, and there was rain long before thunder. Our expert is sleepily muttering about the colour of the flashes, and black-body radiation. The flyaways dance across the sky.

January 25th

We report in the last handful of January days: we keep thinking about the sun lately. It is showing up more often, for longer periods of time. It is much too early to expect spring, but it is on our mind nonetheless. It slips away when we feel the morning wind on our neck.

January 24th

We report: the way this sunset is going, we think that we have enough light remaining for another day. We could simply pretend that this is not a sunset, and perhaps the sun would even rise back up a little bit. We would try, even, if we were not so eager to go to sleep.

January 23rd

We report while the night is thickening, darkness grabbing at our feet. A few stars have caught onto the bare branches of a tree, taking the place of leaves for a moment. Meanwhile, our expert is disturbing the peace by winding up their faltering dynamo torch every few minutes.