February 23rd

We report: it is difficult to get rid of the damp these days, the way it has penetrated everything and everywhere around us. Our expert’s shoes hardly ever get to dry in between days of trodding through puddles and wet grass. It is not quite raining yet, this morning.

February 22nd

We report: this time, we were there as the mammatus were forming, instead of catching them as they were melting back into the sky. It was a single ripple that first caught our eye, and then we watched the clouds carve themselves into the pattern. We started feeling really small.

February 21st

We report: we are counting flowers on our walks. There are dozens of daffodils and primroses, escaping gardens and climbing roundabouts. This afternoon, while the sun is out, the yellow specks in the landscape are the brightest, happiest things we have seen in a while.

February 20th

We report at the end of a day spent formulating thoughts, and organising them, and losing the train of them: we are now appreciating the luxury of letting them all go. The sunset, at the moment, requires no additional thinking from us. Our mind gets filled with orange light.

February 19th

We report: by the road, in the headlights, the birch trees stretch up into the sky like frozen lightning bolts. Not much wind tonight, but it is enough to tear some whines and groans from those skinny branches. We think we see a straggler from the Alpha Centaurid meteor shower.

February 18th

We report on the foreshore, while a spring tide is rising. It is just after the new moon, and because we saw how low the sea retreated, we know we should not linger too long on the shoals if we do not want to get stuck there. We pull our expert from the low tide pools.

February 17th

We report: late afternoon, the wind is dishevelling the clouds. This is one hour of sunshine in the rainiest winter we have ever encountered, which makes it very precious, even as the humidity is still permeating the air.  Even our expert does not say a word about upcoming rain.

February 16th

We report in the dusty, dusty evening. The way this day is waning is through a succession of layers of night. All of them are thin enough that there never is an exact moment when we can declare the conclusion of the day.  Once we make it back home, the dust finally settles.

February 15th

We report: it was dark when we started walking. We cannot help but imagine the places we were as still hidden in the night, with the street lamps still on. Here, in this slice of time, the sun is about to rise, unobscured in its ascent for the first time in many days.

February 14th

We report upon finding the sun in the rain: it makes no rainbow behind our back, but we forgive it easily for that. Later, when it is gone, we miss it, and even later, when it comes back, we are grateful. All throughout, it keeps on raining all the kinds of rain we know.

February 13th

We report: the very beginnings of spring are appearing to us more clearly than ever today. It is extremely premature, but we cannot help it; every year, around mid-February, the wind starts carrying a different smell. Our expert says they cannot tell whether that is true.

February 12th

We report on the shore after a busy weather day: there is a truce, somewhat. Though we can see cumulonimbus and other likely rainy episodes float on the horizon, they pass us by in the driest way they are able to. Our expert is looking for stones to skim, and failing to find any.

February 11th

We report: it is late at night, and the wind is just now waking up. We jumped awake to the crash of a dustbin falling to its side, and when we went to see what happened, the street was eerily quiet, as though the gale was feeling guilty about it. It picked right up a bit later.

February 10th

We report during an interlude, as the sky is making quick and important changes to its configuration. There used to be large mammatus there, those round clouds that sometimes accompany storm cells. The wind is now shaking them loose to make room for something new.

February 9th

We report: mid-afternoon, we are now allowed to witness some of the goings-on of the higher parts of the sky. The cirrus are practicing the slowest of dances, unlike the greyer, wetter, faster clouds that we know intimately these days. The sunshine is a little dizzying.

February 8th

We report: one in a few sunsets, the clouds will turn particularly pink for a few minutes after the sun has gone down. We remember that our expert told us this was caused by Rayleigh scattering, but we do not feel like thinking about Rayleigh scattering at the moment.

February 7th

We report: there are a few more birds hanging around at nightfall lately, and it was almost not cold on our way home. We know better than to think this will stick for very long, seeing as it is still early February, and we do not want to leave February unappreciated.

February 6th

We report in the midst of a hail shower: the hailstones are large, and fast, and we are having trouble hearing our expert over how loud they are. It is a while before the sound of thunder registers beneath it all, and we get away from the trees. The storm is coming our way.

February 5th

We report: it is morning, as close to sunny as this day will get. There is a ring around the sun, frozen into the clouds. We have opened the window, and invited the wind inside; it is chilly, and we are shivering a little, but the air feels drier than it has been in months.

February 4th

We report about a few minutes at the end of the afternoon that we almost missed. There is the smallest window of time when sunset light hits a rooftop window just right, and on the best of days, it catches our eye. This is one of these days. Something lifts off our chest.