November 11th

We report in the tall grass that remains when ferns have dried up and wilted. There is a skylark practicing its lilting flight across the meadows, the only moving part of this hushed morning. We follow the desire paths of foxes and boars along the trees, trying to dodge cobwebs.

November 10th

We report: we stepped out of the train station, and the whole sky fell on our head, all at once, and it was hail, too. We considered walking in that weather for a second, but the sky continued on falling, so we decided against it. We stood there, dripping on the tiled floor.

November 9th

We report in the deep afternoon, which is not very deep these days - one step to the side, and the sunset already grabs us by our feet. In the meantime, there is something really good in the clouds today, in their willingness to bloom into the light. We remember why we look up.

November 8th

We report: a lot of the time, when we think about November during all the other months of the year, it is something like this; that or the rain, but there has not been as much of that so far. In this way, as all our memories match up, we live in all of our Novembers at once.

November 7th

We report in the complete absence of the sun: it is as dark as we remember it from previous nights, when the sun also was not there. We are counting all the other suns that we are now able to observe. Our expert insists that we do not need to count stars every time we see them.

November 6th

We report: even with the weight of the sky, the clouds are rushing by. There is no time even for rain now, only the obfuscation of daylight, and the impression of a torrent streaming across the sky. The same few spots of blue curiously remain open through it all.

November 5th

We report in the mid-afternoon light, which it seems is in fact the evening light. The sun is trailing along behind low clouds, casting a golden something in the air. Our expert‘s coat is too thick for the mild temperature, but they insist on wearing it, visibly red in the face.

November 4th

We report: there is a weight to this morning, like the day was fully formed as soon as there was light in the sky. The sunrise does not hold for our waking up, so we have to be here with our eyes very open, and our mind very alert. We left the smell of coffee and toast behind.

November 3rd

We report: since the sky is oddly bright, we look for the moon, finding it pretending to be full (as you do). It sits in knots of cirrus, like a particularly talented spider on its web. Our expert gasps at the discovery of a moon dog, brilliant remanence of second-hand sunshine.

November 2nd

We report as the wind picks up in the mountains: here where the trees are rare and frail things, the thinnest breeze sweeps us over such that it is difficult to walk against the tide. Rain breaks through the clouds in short bursts. We do our best not to get our hair in our mouth.

November 1st

We report: November emerges in the sunshine, almost too bright to believe. Through the curtains, the light had that golden glow of a low autumn sun. We begin to see some brown among the trees that have not been shaken out by the wind. The cackle of a jay follows us on our walk.

October 31st

We report in the wake of the hundredth shower of this day. We almost slipped on wet, dead leaves earlier, and we are now very busy watching our feet, lingering adrenaline tickling our fingers. Even then, we stop to look up every few steps, hungry for the dying light.

We report: the night came faster for the thick cover of the clouds, and even faster for the looming trees above us. In search of the way back, we looked for familiar landmarks, but only found glowing eyes in the deepening shadows. The wind washed out all the sounds of the night.

October 29th

We report: amidst the fluttering of thousands of wings, we spot some kind of vulture circling the murmuration. Every time it attempts a strike, the cloud of birds dissipates, and immediately, smoothly finds its shape again. Eventually, after a long time, it seems to get tired.

October 28th

We report: a well of light dances on the water far away. The wind unhurriedly moves the clouds, and the patterns of the shade are predictable. Our expert stirs us towards the sunshine, and we immediately feel the heat high on our cheeks. The seabirds flee on our approach.

October 27th

We report of a sunset that has been over-steeped, whatever sweet taste of it already drowned in the night. We take it, the way we try to take everything we can of the sky. Our expert talks about atmospheric refraction, and the fact that the sun has long set already.

October 26th

We report: the moon is in the sky again, only just dipping into the chilly night before it sets in a few hours. The clouds are spreading out along invisible patterns, like a flock of birds scouring the horizon. The air is redolent with damp wood, and the deep scent of the mire.

October 25th

We report in deep October, standing between two storm cells. The clouds rain well, assiduous in the task, and we are well-rained upon, impressed with the efficiency of the whole apparatus. We longed for this in the summer, so we try to enjoy it to the height of our expectations.

October 24th

We report: the humidity and the wind are working together so that walking out felt like a cold shower. We sucked in a breath and went back in to get a scarf. The cirrus overhead had that perfectly incomprehensible, chaotic quality to them, unraveling and colliding at every turn.

October 23rd

We report on the morning after the storm: we were woken up with hail showers in the night, and the south wind rattled the tiles on the roof in a way we had not heard before. It is still windy, but it is the kind of wind that chases clouds away instead of stirring up a tempest.