May 18th

We report about the sea of fog in the valley this morning. Tendrils of mist are curling against the flanks of the mountains, slow enough in their movements that we really do mistake it for the ocean at a glance. We do not expect it to last long past mid-morning.

May 17th

We report: the sun is somewhere in there, we know, but it is really dark today. It is not due to any sort of rainy disposition. The light takes a meandering path down to the ground, seemingly catching onto every cloud, spore and mote of dust before it gets to us.

May 16th

We report: high and far out in the sky, maybe at its furthest edge (at least, our concept of such edge), the clouds spall in turbulent currents. There are these eyebrow clouds again. Now that we have learned of their existence, we keep noticing them above hills and valleys.

May 15th

We report: our expert was tracking the path of the sun through the sky all day long, and even now that it has set, they cannot let it go. The estimation, at the moment, is 3, maybe 4° below the horizon. We hope that we will manage to take them home when it gets fully dark.

May 14th

We report: a cold front washed over us today, and in its wake, the wind is particularly strong and chilly. Our expert had predicted it, in a slightly esoteric way. As per usual, we took note of the strange words they mentioned, and we are now reading up about isallobaric wind.

May 13th

We report: the rain comes and goes in large curtains that seemingly fall all at once. In between, the air is thick and warm, and we move through as though it were molasses. There is that smell of ozone again, instantly recognisable. We keep away from the trees.

May 12th

We report: mid-afternoon, the sunniest hour of the day, but the wind is not letting the warmth stick. Just a month ago, the trees here were only just starting to grow new leaves, and now the cover of the foliage is thick and dense. Altocumulus ceaselessly rush over our head.

May 11th

We report: it is starting to get foggy. There is a subtle bloom softening the world, making us wonder if perhaps our eyes are simply tired. The clouds rise above the evening in a different world, in which the sun is brighter than ours. It gets dark at different paces everywhere.

May 10th

We report: we awoke to light when we thought it would still be pitch dark. We found the east in medium blue, pushing up against indigo clouds.  We almost thought we could grasp the lightening of the sky, the way it was getting louder with the approach of the sun.

May 9th

We report: we see the storm approaching on the radar, but the first boom of thunder still startles us in its echo. We count between flash and thunder in order to gauge the distance, and we find it dwindling fast between each strike. We feel the ground rumbling through our heels.

May 8th

We report: in time, we have come to understand that when cirrus appear on their own in the sky, they tend to precede warm fronts. Now, we have to stay here, and figure out whether they are getting thicker, or remaining the same. This could take a good while longer.

May 7th

We report: it was sunset last time, and it is sunrise this time, but we think the same jackdaw is following us. It would be bold to call ourselves certain, and nothing looks more like a jackdaw than another jackdaw, but our expert thinks its feathers are ruffled the same way.

May 6th

We report: the constellations are broken up by the clouds, and we are too close to sleep to make sense of these things anyway. It feels easy to let go, to not wonder about what kind of clouds they are, or the names of the stars. The wind blows from the darkest corner of the sky.

May 5th

We report: scud clouds are leading ahead of the storm cell while the weather is taking its time deciding where to go next. There was a heavy shower earlier, and it suddenly got cold after a relatively mild morning. Even now, the sun is out, but it has not fully stopped raining.

May 4th

We report about fishbones in the sky; our expert specifically looks out for those. From our understanding,  this is not necessarily out of scientific curiosity, but rather out of liking the look of them. We catch these cirrus vertebratus as they are dissipating.

May 3rd

We report: May is, so far, colder and wetter than April had been, which is something we had hoped for. Smelling leftover rain suspended in the air is an essential experience to our concept of spring. And then anyway, the sun emerges last second, so we may all be content.

May 2nd

We report: we did not take our expert seriously when they said there would be a thunderstorm in the night, because they were wrong the five previous times they did. Now, just woken up from thunder, we think we will have to apologise in the morning. It starts raining more heavily.

May 1st

We report: we are teetering on the brink of weather change. We got excited a few days ago when we realised the wind was turning, but it turned all the way back into its original direction. Now, we watch the clouds, feel a raindrop, and we think this is a good sky for change.

April 30th

We report: we too were, some moments ago, in the shadow of a cloud. Because it is not much of a windy day, it was minutes before we were in the sunshine again. In the undergrowth, the humidity makes the warm air thicker, and turns it cold at the drop of a hat.

April 29th

We report: the sunset lures us outside. We huff and puff a little, but we put our shoes back on, and as soon as we see more of the sky, we know it was worth it. We walk up the street to look for the horizon, accompanied by a jackdaw. The colours slowly leech out.