We report about dissolved clouds, small shreds of steam moving unconsolidated; they are headed in the same general direction, but with a remarkable lack of purpose. Our expert gently explains to us that there is no use in anthropomorphising clouds, but we cannot help it. | Continue reading
We report from the exact right angle, at the exact right moment, a burst of light, something fierce and bright. That sunshine would have been scattered into the sky anyway, but to see it surge from behind the clouds like this has to count as something special, perhaps a miracle. | Continue reading
We report: the sun stretches to long scraps of ashen light, not enough to go around the whole sky. It is burning at both ends, and the day is all done, over, and we are able to say that we have lived through it. Cross it out, start a new one. And the sun stretches thinner still. | Continue reading
We report at the hour when ghosts appear, walking in the middle of the road. It is not enough of a place that we imagine any cars could come by here and now, but we keep listening for them anyway. Instead, we hear echoes of a motorway in the distance, and the wind in our ears. | Continue reading
We report: despite all appearances, this is not much of a day for rain. The clouds contort themselves around precipitations, spinning around aimlessly while no wind blows. The sky above is a careless blue, steady when we catch a glimpse of it. The sun hits through the greys. | Continue reading
We report in the easy morning light, the air blooms around the clouds. We do not remember whether we heard any rain last night, but the grass is especially wet, and the mud is fresh on the path. It smells bright. The sun comes out all the time. The sky keeps sprawling out. | Continue reading
We report: with the later sunsets, we find ourselves alone in the streets when the sky turns orange. We see people indoors going about their evening while the clouds move westwards, taking the sun with them where we cannot see it. The puddles light up in potholes. | Continue reading
We report about our daily devastation, each time our favourite, the blue hour, the inkwell that spills over the whole sky. The wind changes, and it rains a little bit, but it is not cold. We face darkness once more, and the sky is starved for lost light, still, always. | Continue reading
We report: it is loudly raining at the moment, and the sea is a large sounding board for it. The shower seems very local, as the coast on the horizon is enjoying the sunshine while we are drowning in open air. We need to shout to be understood by our expert, much to their dismay. | Continue reading
We report in the sun: it is certainly not warm enough that we feel it through our clothes, but we can feel the sunshine on our face. We stand there, our eyes closed, facing the sun. It is bright crimson, and we can hear the new foliage swaying, whispers in the spring breeze. | Continue reading
We report: evening, a drizzle. Even through the light rain, this sunset seems remarkably late in the day, now that April is coming to a close. The clouds are pooling overhead, but many parts of the sky remain clear. A blackbird hops around, cheerful trills in the dying light. | Continue reading
We report in the last dregs of the night: this waning gibbous moon is making its way down to the horizon, while we painfully attempt to make our way up. Half of the city is awake and busy - we would not mind belonging to the second half for a little while longer, asleep and idle. | Continue reading
We report: we are having trouble making sense of the clouds today. Whenever we attempt to follow a swirl, the way it bends hurts our eyes, and we lose track of the shapes. The barometer has had a significant drop; we blame it for any strange behaviour we might witness. | Continue reading
We report about a curiously vertical cumulus shooting out for the heights of the atmosphere. We are suspecting a certain amount of humid, warm air that is pushing up the steam. It is well on its way to becoming a cumulus congestus, if it keeps developing this way. | Continue reading
We report: the sun is falling down, but it is all going to be alright. It is going to get colder, but it will be alright. And the shade grows to take our shoulders and our neck, but we will be fine when our head disappears too. Ah, but in our sleep, we will dream of the sun. | Continue reading
We report after staying alone in the dark for too long: it is a nice thought that after the Sun burns out, so many of those stars will be left. So that the small handful of minerals that is in our ribcage and our teeth and nails may yet be part of something else, in a long time. | Continue reading
We report: quite early, we are taking a look at the weather for the first time today. It seems that much time has been spent stacking clouds over the night, some sort of misshapen pile of grey that could topple over at any point. We do not know how we are to sort this out. | Continue reading
We report after a silent storm, the air remains confused, all jumbled up. Cold air is descending, the wind is twisting up and sideways, and there is a bit of rain, but only in very specific spots. The light wanes on us as a signal to wrap it all up. Let us settle down now. | Continue reading
We report: we were having a pleasant walk at sunset, lovely, even. Around the time we started to lose light, we tripped on a rock and scraped our knee. Nothing too bad; the walk remained quite nice, and we got a fashionable rip on our trousers, plus a little blood on our sock. | Continue reading
We report about the green sky before the sun rose this morning. All the sparrows in the hedges have been emboldened by the spring, these days; louder than ever, they will not flee even when we walk a little too close to them. The swallows, however, still give us a wide berth. | Continue reading
We report: even the rainbow seems a little washed-out in this rain. This cumulonimbus has been maturing over a long time, and there is finally some precipitation that we can see. It has been long enough, in fact, that we have managed to put some distance between the storm and us. | Continue reading
We report about our moon in broad daylight. We heard something interesting happened with the moon recently. Our expert told us that it barged into the sky, and caused a bit of a ruckus. We can relate; last week, we accidentally slammed a door in the middle of the night. Awkward! | Continue reading
We report: our expert has been experiencing hay fever, and their eyes and nose are running running running all the time. We bring them tissues and try not to bless them every time they sneeze. The flowers rushed to bloom these past weeks, as though some were scared of being last. | Continue reading
We report between one breath and the next: colours are not burnt out yet, there are a handful lying around there. In just a beat, the day will have been consumed, down to the very last bit of candlewick. We are trying to cram all our hopes and dreams into that last second. | Continue reading
We report: the sky was a uniform, light grey all afternoon, and it rained throughout, fat, heavy drops. These clouds come after the rain. Smoky, sooty little things that hasten across the sky while our sodden trousers slowly dry. The flowers drop low to the ground, full of rain. | Continue reading
We report in the company of gulls and their snide shrieks: warmest day of the year so far for us and our expert. The sky is full of contrails. They endure the wind, remain unmoving, but become gossamer-thin in time. They all, eventually, fade back into the sky. | Continue reading
We report: every morning around this time, as we lie in bed, we hear someone walk down the street in high heels. Their pace is always about the same, fast but not quite urgent. These days, the sun rises at the same time; barely awake, pink light streaming in, high heels clicking. | Continue reading
We report in recent news about our night sky: lately, it is Capella that we see through our window after sun down. For this reason, we would like to personally congratulate Capella. Great job being one of our regulars, Capella! You are doing your constellation (Auriga) proud. | Continue reading
We report: the sky has welled up in strange tears. We only saw them because we are always looking for odd shapes in the clouds; these slightly ominous ones faded in and out of the grey quite gracefully. The rain picked up again once they were out of sight, carried by the wind. | Continue reading
We report about the loveliest, kindest paths in the sky that unfurl easily over long moments. They are weak and fragile, yet they stay. We watch them remain still, way up there, while everything moves under them. Then, they start diluting slowly, washed over in the sunshine. | Continue reading
We report: it all ends with diaphanous sunshine, streaming in underneath clouds that sit solid and heavy. It was raining earlier, and we can see it will rain some more - nothing that our expert would be impressed with, but the horizon is rain-wrapped, and the wind blows our way. | Continue reading
We report about the wind that has only gotten stronger through the night. There are all those different folds to the wind that we cannot usually hear quite as well. We can barely see a thing, but there is a deep rumble coming from the ground, sending vibrations through our feet. | Continue reading
We report: we are teetering on the edge of full-on rain. How shall we declare the presence of rain? Drops per minute? If so, we count a mere five that we can feel on the back of our hand. The wind shimmers with sharp icy teeth. It gets into our shirt, and bites our ankles. | Continue reading
We report: the clouds are masquerading as soft and sweet, summery even, but do not fall for their treacherous appearance. In a few moments, when the blue sky has your trust, it will starts raining again. Curtains of rain, a bucketful, right on your head, when you least expect it. | Continue reading
We report: early in April, we can already feel the visceral pull of deep spring. The roots and the leaves, the wet earth and the wriggling worms, and the bumblebees. At dawn, the horizon is set ablaze, and the world comes up to a roar - might as well see how bright it gets. | Continue reading
We report, tonight, from the depths of soggy darkness. It is a day for night set out here, the clouds are practically shining in the sub-horizon light. Our expert talks at length about the Purkinje effect, the fact that the colour our human eyes see best in low light is blue. | Continue reading
We report: oh the messiness, oh the inconvenience of beautiful weather. We could leave it be, go through our days without care for what the sky is doing. The intricacies, after all, do not matter in the grand scheme of things. But, truth is, we abandon everything for a nice cloud … | Continue reading
We report: March coming to an end in loud bursts of storms and blue skies all the same. It is a month that exists to give way to something different, to contain change. We have a hope that there is more after this, before all of our pieces get scattered in the wind. | Continue reading
We report on a slow day: our heavy heart sits in the warmth of this two-tone sunset, tight throat with the sharp, green wind swirling above the pond. We forgot the bird names we learned last spring, but they are all here tonight, scratching the mirror of water when they fly low. | Continue reading
We report: it is the sky, the very same, the one we have known since we were born. It is in the same spot, has not moved from its superior position, is very reliable. It is interesting, then, that it is also so unpredictable and prone to changes. The clouds just turned blue. | Continue reading
We report from the inside of a cloud: we can see the mist roll over the grass, heavy and slow in the stillness that the fog invokes. We think we ought to move at the same pace, that we ought to let the fog do what it needs to do so that it may rise at some point. | Continue reading
We report: a little dip back into winter, these last few days. It is all very well and good to imagine going past a certain point and affirm that "here is the new season", but the reality of the matter is much different. Still, the sun makes valiant efforts to climb ever higher. | Continue reading
We report large gashes wide open all over the sky, like two people each grabbed one opposite end and pulled as hard as they could. Like, say, perhaps, a reporter and their expert, hypothetically, if that was something someone could do. Either way, the light is fading quick. | Continue reading
We report: it is marshy here, and we are struggling to pick our feet back up every time we put them down. We speak low, but the sound of our steps is louder than our voice anyway. We watch our expert's back through the fog of our breath. The full moon is completely obscured. | Continue reading
We report a messy morning, windy enough to make waves in the large puddles on our path. The light is indolent, dragging behind as the rest of the world moves forward. We feel a bit small, a bit sideways, a little upside down; maybe the low clouds feel heavy on our shoulders. | Continue reading