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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The sunsets are long and lovely again and I have to repost this, again.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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i've now made this free / pwyw!
dystopia, animal revenge & idiocy (coffee link in my twitter biography)

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Going on nice, normal little walks and everything is fine

Going on nice, normal little walks and everything is fine