August 4th

We report as the sun is bruising purple behind clouds. It takes us some days to realise it, but this August already feels like a summer's end. As always, we smell it in the air; subtle, but something colours it with deep, earthy tones. Today, there is melancholy in newborn light.

August 3rd

We report: along country paths, a lot of umbels have been going to seed early. In the dark and the fog, our expert is trying to figure out what is hogweed, and what is Queen Anne’s lace - crouched in the tall, sodden grass, their neck craned to examine the leaves and the stems.

August 2nd

We report: welcome to a short moment in time when the clouds are just like this. It took the wind, the amount of humidity in the atmosphere and the pressure of it too, some seawater, and us looking up at the whole picture. The sky has never been and will never be this again.

August 1st

We report: July was so full, bright, and hot; August meets us with a slow burn, and shy glances from the sun. The clouds will not settle into any one shape. We appreciate the lack of extremes in the mild weather, and even the wind that has us keep a jumper in our backpack.

July 31st

We report in between large yawns: there had not been pink in the dawn sky in a little while, and we had forgotten how much fondness a pink sky brings up in us. We watch the gulls fly overhead with each a bellyful of light, and this sunrise is anything but quiet, but it shines.

July 30th

We report: we ask our expert whether they are inventing brand new meteor showers for the fun of it, spiteful because the night is a little colder than expected. They talk about Comet 169P/NEAT and its Alpha Capricornids dust cloud, and we have to believe they did not make it up.

July 29th

We report while the developing clouds are beginning to conflict with the late afternoon light. The world is bathed in a milky sort of sunshine, the shadows are defined, yet pale and fleeting. The sky looks full. Yet again, we wait for something to happen, some kind of spark.

July 28th

We report: our expert is convinced of future rain, which does not seem to far-fetched at the moment. We are always expecting rain anyway, somehow. They wait for meaner, taller clouds even as these ones already seem very tall and a little mean. We make it an exercise of patience.

July 27th

We report on a damp evening: it took us all this time to get used to the summer heat, and now that we are going through a slightly colder spell, we feel a little bereft. As the light grows dimmer, our expert urges us to walk faster. We keep the sunset to our left.

July 26th

We report: there is a little bit of spare time at the end of this day, a few minutes that had nowhere else to go, so our expert and we took them. We cannot be certain, but we think we stayed in those blue hour minutes for days, while the night stayed unmoving in expectation.

July 25th

We report: it does not rain like they said it would, and it does not get any darker today, though it is quite dark, really. Nevertheless, the singing beneath the clouds does not relent, the way the earth prepares itself for tidings of storms - whether any acme is reached or not.

Jul6 24th

We report: this is a day when the visibility of the sun greatly affects the temperature, and coincidentally, this is also a day when the visibility of the sun has been very ambiguous. At this point in time, the amount of sunlight we are getting just about overcomes the wind.

July 23rd

We report on a windy July morning: it is some time yet before full light, yet the brightness of the clouds fills our eyes just the same. By our side, our expert is working hard to fully wake up, keeping quiet so as to conserve  energy. We hear dew dripping from the gutter.

July 22nd

We report: we get a glimpse at the sky for a  few seconds before we have to go tonight, but we remember it. The shadow of the Milky Way looms over the entirety of the vault, a shape built out of distant unknowns. Our eyes are not made for darkness, but we long to see more of it.

July 21st

We report as we trod the sodden ground: the steady, brilliant rains of the past week have brought out all the worms, the snails and the slugs, and our expert keeps pointing them out in delight. Tree branches bend under the weight of the rainwater caught in the leaves.

July 20th

We report: every now and then, we ask our expert to identify clouds for us, and they stare, open and close their mouth a few times, frown, and then say « I don’t know ». They always eventually find out, but we feel a little relieved that they do not know everything.

July 19th

We report: on this diluvian day, we obtained a customary twelve minutes break so that we could ensure that the sun still existed. Once these twelve minutes had elapsed, our star dipped into the lowest clouds, and the rain took up once again, a little louder than before.

July 18th

We report in the tentative morning: we are led home by the light to come. Our legs are tired, but gravity barely exists at this hour. Our expert is giggly from a sleepless night, their blue smile barely visible in pretty pre-dawn. We think we are floating above our own body.

July 17th

We report: the storm come by way of septentrional winds, and it does indeed feel particularly northern for a reason that escapes us. The rain is coming straight down in dark, heavy drops that colour the landscape like ink - a few of them enough to render us soaking wet.

July 16th

We report while the sky is busy organising its clouds: after some rain here and there in the last few days, the air is brighter and cleaner than it has been in a while. We take our expert up a hill to watch the clouds take on the horizon, and we sit there for a very long time.