#nimbostratus praecipitatio

[cleverreports]

We report on the day of the winter solstice: the whole event almost passed us by, which is a common issue on the shortest day of the year. It was a good thing, then, that we were able to witness a brief, faint rainbow. A little something to remember this solstice by.

[clementinesclouddiary]

2024.06.13

Nimbostratus clouds with praecipitatio (right). The wind picked up very quickly and I was caught in the downpour about five minutes later.

[cleverreports]

We report: here we are, breathing in more brine than air, and perhaps our lungs will rust. The damp has gotten to every part of us already, and our mind is foggy, and our hands are salt-sticky. We will probably be something new once we get back, a creature from the deep.

[cleverreports]

We report: December, born out of rain in the night. We barely need to breathe out for steam to fog up our face, humid as it is out here. The sky says nothing but more rain, and it is nice, to have that certitude for a while longer. We listen close for the quiet between raindrops.

[cleverreports]

We report at an untold time of the night: our expert talked about how it "smells like snow" while we were out yesterday. We thought that was a dubious statement. We were wrong, of course, although happily so. The layer is thin, and it has not stuck on the roads yet.

[cleverreports]

We report in the midst of October rain: we walk gingerly for fear of slipping. It is that type of treacherous rain that turns pavements into ice rinks. Meanwhile, the trees are still mostly full of leaves, but the sap has gotten slow to reach the tips of branches. No wind today.

[cleverreports]

We report as it finally starts to rain: the surface of the pond was once a mirror, but it has dulled out under the drizzle. The white noise starts low, then fills our ears when the rain comes in earnest. We stop walking for a moment to let it drown everything else out.

[cleverreports]

We report: we are here in an empty parking lot, late November. It is pouring, and the wind is making all sorts of sounds that have us a little concerned. The clouds are getting caught on bare branches, and though it is early afternoon still, it seems the sun could be lost to us.

[cleverreports]

We report: we cannot quite tell where all this light is coming from all of a sudden, and frankly, the light itself is making it hard to tell. Each raindrop is catching the sun and casting it into our eyes, and we do not have sunglasses with us. It is getting warm.

[cleverreports]

We report: our umbrella is lying open on the floor by the front door, spilling into indoor puddles. The kettle starts to boil as the rain picks back up; the white noise of it all is scrambling our thoughts. Our expert comes home, and leaves their own wet umbrella by ours.

[cleverreports]

We report: we argued about directions with our expert on the way to the beach, and we felt spiteful enough to forgo our raincoat when they told us it would rain. We are now completely sodden. We feel quite silly, but we are still working through the spite. The rain has gotten to our socks.

[cleverreports]

We report late in the afternoon, as rain is starting to fall in earnest. We came to watch the clouds advance, but the smell hit us like it was the first time we came across it, deep, organic, and crisp. "Petrichor" is almost too easy a word to describe the smell of rain.

[cleverreports]

We report: we watch the retreating storm clouds while the broken gutter is still flooding the pavement. There is a dandelion that is dancing frantically under the constant stream of water, and some gravel from recent construction is running down the street. The sun comes out.