May 9th

We report: so it goes that we find ourselves again staring at the brightest source of light we could possibly find. We do this with the high hopes of finding a halo, or any type of iridescence; we are fully aware that if is there, we will likely not see it with the naked eye.

May 8th

We report in the late evening: it is all a bit much. The wind is strong and blowing from an unusual direction, the clouds are expanding to monstrous proportions, and the light feels apocalyptic in nature. When it starts raining, it seems like an appropriate climax to the sunset.

May 7th

We report: we know the moon is somewhere up there, busy getting rounder, but we can only tell because of how bright this night is. We can just about find our way, with only minimal tripping on roots. It has not rained in a little while here, and it smells like pine and dust.

May 6th

We report rainbow weather: a spring shower is meeting the course of the sun, and it is difficult to see much of anything between the rain and the light in our eyes. The rain is falling harder than we had expected, but the sun is also shining brighter, loud in a different way.

May 5th

We report in the mid-afternoon: the sky is at its bluest, and the sun is at its brightest, yet we feel something cool in the breeze. It has been a warm spring so far, and we now realise how fast we got used to the mild temperatures. We long for the jacket we left in the car.

May 4th

We report: the first few days of May happened like a drawn-out sigh, a spill of warmth and light. Spring is now rolling out at full speed, and we remember now how hungry green can be, crawling onto pavements and walls and trees. The sunset seems a weak attempt at stopping it.

May 3rd

We report: we have seen the slim crescent of the moon during daytime this week, always for a few seconds while we were looking for something else in the sky. To see it glow in the twilight hours moves something in our chest, and we step back to get a better look at it.

May 2nd

We report while we wait for something to happen: everything is pointing to a thunderstorm - the barometer, those clouds that look like cumulonimbus, the swallows brushing the pavement. Most of all, the stillness in the chilly, dank air that raises hairs on the back of our neck.

May 1st

We report: we think there is a layer of the sky breaking into shards, and we can only hope the pieces don't fall on top of our head. As we keep watching, however, they seem to spread out instead, and start forming a single cloud spanning the whole sky. We have nothing to fear.

April 30th

We report: the sunrise is revealing new clouds where we thought there were none, back when the whole sky was a uniform middle blue. Now a breeze starts to round out the clouds, and things are suddenly moving much faster while, as usual, we struggle to muster a single thought.

April 29th

We report in the process of unfurling the darkness: it is night enough that we could not call this a day anymore, but still day enough that calling it a night would feel like pushing it. Although, perhaps night is when we almost slip because it is too dark to see where we walk.

April 28th

We report: the air is a little heavy, and we say something like "what an odd kind of weather" to our expert, and they reply something like "isn't it just". It does not feel like rain, but it is hard to imagine how else the weather could resolve. Dandelion seeds catch in our hair.

April 27th

We report: we see April come to an end, and we feel late, and like we are missing spring, and summer will be here before we know it. Our expert tells us we only have to follow the clouds, because their pace is the only one that counts in the end. Why not, we will give it a try.

April 26th

We report: the sun is crawling its way up through the clouds, and the fog is keeping a hold on the ground as best as it can, but this already feels like a sunny day. We are watching the flowers rise to face the sky, slowly opening. We can hear the dew dripping off the leaves.

April 25th

We report: as we wake up in the morning, we remember this sky as if it were a dream. It falls apart in our mind, so we call our expert to describe it, and we talk about the smell of the darkness, the glint of the stars like sand in the sunshine. They tell us to go back to sleep.

April 24th

We report: as we have gotten used to the longer days of spring, it is a little unsettling when the light dims mid-afternoon. Nothing very special is happening, only some rain, and the cloud cover that has gotten thick enough to trap the light inside. The world gets a bit smaller.

April 23rd

We report under the bright noon sun: this cloud keeps on rising higher and higher, showing no signs of stopping. We have seen some of its neighbours hit ceilings that this cloud does not seem to even acknowledge. We cannot help but root for this growing giant.

April 22nd

We report: an evening lull amidst a wet week, the sky is staring at itself in overflowing potholes, remembering an ocean in the gravel. All the dust and the pollen have long fallen off the air in morning, and then afternoon showers, but the horizon remains a misty thing.

April 21st

We report about the storm of the past night: the thunder a steady roll rather than distinct claps, and the lightning, diffuse flashes hidden by the shadows of rain. On the floor, the outlines of the windows cut the light in neat, contained shapes. We had no trouble finding sleep.

April 20th

We report: the clouds cannot seem to determine at which altitude to settle, and the waves roll over the sky with indecisiveness. Our expert says they are monitoring the movements of the weather for a possible thunderstorm, although we think they might actually be taking a nap.