Everything you write here… your weathers, your moments, your glimmers, your clouds, your dreams… lives in your own device’s storage for this site, and nowhere else. There is no account, no cloud copy, no shelf of your words on any server. The honest cost of that: if you clear this site’s data from your browser, your words go with it… which is why the tellings carry a “keep this story” button, for the ones you want somewhere safer.
Two things travel, and only when you ask. Press “let it shine” and your moment goes once to the writer in the glass, to be answered. Whisper a dream and the fragment goes once to be woven into its haiku. Both journeys end the same way… answered, never stored, never used to teach the AI, and home again to your pocket. The writer is a language model called Claude, made by Anthropic… the paper names it in full.
No cookies… none at all, which is why no banner ever asks you about them. No analytics, no trackers, no ads… and nothing scans what you write. That is a trade made in the open: a sanctuary that surveilled its people would be neither. So instead of watching, the crisis lines stand at every window… Samaritans 116 123 · SHOUT, text 85258.
The rainy day pot runs through Stripe, on Stripe’s own page… card details are theirs to guard and are never seen here. Notes to the pot travel by Formspree, an email relay. And a few book links lead out to Bookshop.org or Amazon… once you are through those doors, their small print applies, not this one.
No paywall, no subscription, no purchase anywhere in the app. The pot is the only money, it is entirely optional, and it buys the giver nothing at all… it just keeps the light burning for strangers.
Open “about this place” at the bottom of the dial and leave a note… it lands with a human, and no address is needed.