Reports From Unknown Places About Indescribable Events
Digital art & texts by Ninn Salaün @bleu-capsicum.bsky.social
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Reports From Unknown Places
We report: the clouds become ghostly presences as we are gone to the night. In the darkening of the sky, they slowly become invisible. We know there will come a moment when we only know them from the absence of the stars; only the void as a testimony of their existence.
We report: we can tell that it is about to get too cloudy for the sunset to keep its colours. In the west, large clouds are grazing the horizon, getting ever closer to where the sun is busy melting into the earth. And here comes the humidity, too. We have to go home.
We report: this is a virga under the altocumulus, made of sublimating ice crystals. This is precipitation which, unlike the rain we have been seeing lately, will not reach the ground. We think this will not exempt us from the rain - we see darker clouds moving our way.
We report around noon, as it is beginning to get hot: contrails and overhead lines are splitting the sky into shards. We stare at the resulting pattern for too long, and it stays printed over our eyes when we board the train. It is still overlaid there while we look for a seat.
We report about the wind blowing across this week: some days, a breeze, and the rest of the time, a gale. The wind is chasing a cold front, west-southwest veering southwest at night, counterclockwise, ten knots in the morning and seven more in the afternoon. Always going.
We report: oddly, we do not hear the sound of rain from where we are. Looking at the advancing curtain of water, we think we should not be able to hear anything else. It seems this is not for us. On the radar, we find ourselves just outside of the radius of precipitation.
We report: we have to wait longer and longer for the sky to get dark enough that the stars will come out. We are not immune to getting sleepy long before any meaningful stargazing can be done. However, clear night skies have been sparse lately, so we make an effort to stay alert.
We report: it stops raining at some point in the night, and we do not know exactly when, as we were sleeping then. By the time we wake up, fog has taken over. Our expert is somewhere by those trees, but the fog bank is thick enough that we cannot even guess where exactly.
We report: it is drizzling intermittently, as though we are walking into clouds, and besides that, it is a very bright day. When we look into the distance, we see each field light up one after the other. We hear the rain, the wind, and the birds, and we feel we are here and now.
We report: the gale, out of nowhere, blows with all its might, knocks the whole afternoon to its side. We love the grey light of cloudy days, even the misty, drizzly bits. However, with the sky this dark, when the trees glitter in the sunshine this way, everything feels alright.
