Reports From Unknown Places

We report: in the past few days, clear skies have been hidden, revealed only parsimoniously through veils and gaps. At sunset, in the drizzle, the western horizon is all grey, but there is plenty more to look at elsewhere. In a brief gust of wind, we catch a piece of sunshine.

We report: the moon will be full in a few hours, but it is not yet the bright floodlight that we are used to on clearer nights. Although the cloud cover is thin, it still manages to dim the moonlight. In a way, we feel grateful; it is easier to observe the craters like this.

We report: on the long tail of this week’s storm, the wind still has big teeth. It is raking the sea, throwing sea foam into the air. When there is a lull in the weather, the smell of the ocean is overwhelming; the storm must have disturbed some creatures of the abyss.

We report: later on, the sky is still working to sort itself out, all its pieces scattered every which way. The storm has moved on to the east, shaking some other trees that we do not know about. Many of the leaves of the trees we do know are on the ground now.

We report: the sunrise is a little furious, shaken out of the clouds instead of the expected slow reveal. The clouds are also mangled and mean, moving fast, shredding in the strong wind gusts. We had trouble sleeping through the groaning and creaking of a stormy night.

We report: the sky was still bright when we got on the train. We watched the slow spread of ink over the clouds, the gilding of the horizon, and the rain advancing our way - or rather, we are coming to the rain. Just like this, when we get off the train, it is a different world.

We report: it is a salty, cold wind by the sea on the approach of our first autumn storm. Our face burns when we get out of the weather, and we feel exhausted after only a few minutes out there. The wind is getting in through a small gap in the car window, whistling sharply.

We report: if we walk for a little while, we do warm up, but it is chilly. We thought that the sun would be out for the whole afternoon, but for some reason, the clouds remain exactly at the level where they are able to hide it. It is just visible enough to obstruct our eyes.

We report: later on, it starts pouring, but only after the sun has really finished setting. Our expert confirms it; the sun is below the horizon, and we are even a few paces into nautical twilight by the time any raindrops can be felt. We are completely taken by surprise.

We report: this morning, it is cold in a way that made us think we had forgotten how it felt to be cold. Our hands are as deep into our pockets as they will go, and we have already sneezed twice in a row. It is windy too, so we are tearing up. We do regret going out a little bit.

We report: this is a kind of sky we see in autumn too. With the rain streaming down our face, and the sun in our eyes, we cannot even bring ourselves to put the hood of our jacket on. It feels like we should properly acknowledge our first rainbows of the season.

We report: it is a warm, but it does not feel at all like summer anymore. The mild wind is at times taken by sudden cold spots, and there really is that distinct autumn smell constantly in the air now. Our expert has begun collecting fallen leaves, their eyes fixed on the ground.

We report: from this far, we can tell these are gulls (since we can hear them as well), but we cannot tell what kind of gulls they are. We wonder if they are heading south, or if they are just arriving from up north to winter here. It is very humid tonight; we expect fog.

We report: as the sky is slowly clearing up at nightfall, dusk is dragging on over the hour (one step forward and two steps back). In the east, the sky is already completely dark, still wrapped up in clouds. It is difficult to tell, but it might also still be raining there.

We report: there was drizzle through the night, and the sky remained overcast through the morning after. It even got a little darker. We realised that the sun is now consistently low enough in the sky that, even at noon, it does not get as bright. Many leaves have fallen lately.

We report: there is a little bit too much to look at in the sky this afternoon. We try to focus on the expansion of a single cloud, but something else is always happening just to the side. The light is catching on every mountain and valley that exist in the clouds.

We report: we are here with our expert, watching a large flock of jackdaws scouring the fields in the east. They keep circling back to our spot. There are dozens of birds, their flight chaotic and unpredictable. We are here for a long time, so we get a bit of sunset colours too.

We report: it is the middle of the night, and we are alone in the street. When there are no cars, the rain is a murmur, minuscule drops that completely saturate the air. It makes the light sticky, rubbing onto the air and the asphalt. We do not quite recognise this part of town.

We report: we have been keeping an eye on the slow collapse of the sky. Our expert is comparing the state of each layer minute to minute, and there is a distinct bend in places where the weight is getting heavier. We do not know what we will do if it all ends up on the ground.

We report: in the past few days, we have come to the conclusion that our favourite pair of shoes is no longer waterproof. Upon close examination, we have noticed a gap between the midsole and the outsole of our left shoe. In the meantime, the clouds have kept on getting taller.

We report: after an afternoon of rain, and with the expectancy of a rainy night as well, the sun makes an appearance at sunset. Our expert has rolled down the car window, and it smells cold; the humidity is crisp instead of muggy. The light is warm in comparison.

We report: there are altostratus clouds keeping dawn at bay, and it feels darker down here for the specks of light we can see. We are expecting rain in the afternoon, but we think it might come early when we see the clouds still advancing, and we hear the wind rising.

We report: the clouds gathered at such a slow, measured pace that we only ended up noticing them from how dark it had become. We were examining the sphagnum moss in a puddle, and it gradually became more difficult to even see. Just like this, the rain started too.

We report: over the lake, cumulus are piling up in neat rows, along invisible streets created by the wind. The same wind is making ripples on the surface of the lake. There is a rhythm to the whole organisation, down to the movement of the shadows on the shore.

We report: this is rain far away, late, and somehow in the path of the sunshine this time as well. It is dry where we are (it feels humid, but under the threshold for precipitation), and we think the wind is pushing the situation away from us. Our eyes are stuck to the horizon.

We report: with the moon still over half-full, there is enough light for the silver cirrus to show in the night sky. They are almost clearer than they would be in daylight, wrapping around the stars. It is now getting a little too cold for us to keep the window open like this.

We report: it rains sporadically throughout the day, sometimes for an hour, sometimes a minute. We understand why looking at the clouds which are responsible for the precipitation; the rain does not look like it knows where it is going, even stopping mid-air here and there.

We report: we have noticed that, early in autumn days, we often find waves in the sky. A few days after spring tides, we think it is only right that they should be there. Our expert says this has to do with rapid changes in temperatures. We can see them move with the naked eye.

We report: walking away from the city and into the countryside, the streetlights are spread further and further apart. We see glowing eyes in the bushes, and the trees are dark, loom high over our heads. We overestimated the time we had before nightfall. It smells like rain.

We report: the moon rose as it was already getting dark, and it was drizzling. It was only by chance that we saw it glowing through the clouds, and decided to wait until the wind pushed them away. It was a full moon yesterday, but as usual, it seemed equally full tonight.

We report: in the afternoon of a hot day, the sky begins to undulate wildly - the clouds coming apart, colliding, the plates overlaying one another as the atmospheric pressure changes. It does not lead to rain right away. The whole sky stews in this instability for hours.

We report: there is a bit of wind, and a lot of sunshine, humidity as well as we get to the later part of the afternoon. We are getting familiar with this feeling again - autumn and spring, when we are not sure whether we are hot or cold, or both at the same time.

We report: the light is alive in the clouds at dawn, flowing through the veins created by the few gaps. It keeps transforming in the minutes we get to watch it. It loses the pink, and it gets weaker when it turns blue instead. Our expert, for once, decides to go back to sleep.

We report: we could not see much of the sky until the street lights got turned off. From there, the stars also first appeared out of our sight, and then in the white of our eyes, until they reached the middle of our pupils. We found they shone icily in an anodised sky.

We report: mid-morning, the sky wrinkles and begins shrivelling up in some places. It was already a muggy day, but now, we feel a buzz settle in the back of our head. The humidity is wrapping itself around us, getting more stifling as the sun keeps moving higher in the sky.

We report: we are walking at cloud-pace today. We get the exact amount of rain that the clouds are able to make, and later on, we only get the sun that these same clouds will let through. We feel like we have travelled a lot, even though the landscape has not changed much.

We report: the humidity of this evening has bloomed into bright colours, so that even our tired eyes cannot help but awaken in the light. We feel cold, but we can tell this is more on us than the light breeze. Later on, we watch the sun slide off each layer of clouds, one by one.

We report: there are flocks of birds in the sky at nightfall again. The days are still warm, but they are getting short, enough that we have to look out for the height of the sun in the late afternoons. Our export reminds us that the autumn equinox is in a few days.

We report: since we came up to the mountains, we are now in the land of the clouds. Although one might refer to this weather as « a downpour », we like to think that we are « mapping the clouds ». We have not been able to take notes in the heavy rain, but we are paying attention.

We report: it rained a lot, and our clothes have yet to dry completely. Even then, although we can feel our damp socks in our shoes, it feels like a new day when the sun comes out. It is brighter for the way it lives in puddles, in raindrops that are still suspended to the trees.

We report: today, the wind blew in the same direction all day long, and the clouds formed along that way. It rained like that, we saw the slant, and the buildings got wet on that side. The planes went on all their right ways too, and we did not get lost on our own path.

We report: this is pre-dawn. Under the glare of the streetlight, we hear a robin‘s song. The blue of this twilight is vibrating at a strange frequency that we cannot place. It seems to be a shade we had never seen before, solid and fuzzy at the same time. Our ears are buzzing.

We report: this afternoon, the weather is at a standstill. At the top of the beach where the seaweed has come to wash, the clouds do the same, pushed to the shoreline with this morning’s high tide. There are thousands of seashells in the sand, all gorgeous and unique.

We report: we feel completely dwarfed by the clouds today. Every time we look up, they seem to get taller. We think they might be absorbing the other, smaller clouds when we are not looking, and there are plenty more of those. The sun manages to come through the chaos.

We report: the sun is a few degrees above the horizon, melting into the atmosphere. Because it is this low, we are exceptionally able to see its shimmering corona with the naked eye. We realise that we still should probably not be looking at the sun for this long.

We report at dawn: the clouds are diaphanous, only just coming into view. The sky looks so thin, like the weakest breeze could knock it all over. Some colours are being brought into the world with utmost care - not too many, not all at once, not too loud, so you can sleep in.

We report about drizzle on the river. We watch the smallest beads of water catch on our expert’s flyaways. It is a ghostly sort of morning; we have not come across a single person so far. We passed a cormorant perched on a buoy, and it did not even glance at us.

We report: this is more of the raking September light that is so alluring to us. Today, the clouds are also showing proclivities when it comes to geometry; we think that we might find words written in the sky any minute now. It is chilly enough for long sleeves.

We report: our expert is too busy catching up on solar weather reports to deign join us for the sunset - it appears that they had missed the news of a minor geomagnetic storm. Down here, even through the highs and lows of atmospheric pressure, the storm clouds pass quietly.

We report at nightfall, ahead of the cold front we are expecting in the morning: the wind is rising. The atmospheric pressure is still dropping. The stars are twinkling through the clouds; the humidity is creating halos around them. The few raindrops are flying in the breeze.