Water temp is here. THE WATER. Every place now reads its nearest water — a bay, a lake, the shore — from the closest station, and says where it was read: "Water 63° · Alameda, 7 mi". Ask Cloudman and he tells you; the Today sheet lists it; and it can stand on your home as a fact. EDIT WHAT MATTERS. A door under your facts opens the same edit mode as the hold. When a new fact arrives it offers itself once, in the place it would stand — NEW · Water temp 63° · Add — so nothing joins your home without you. YOUR HOME STAYS YOURS. An update never sends you back through the first questions, and if your phone loses your home place, Cloudman brings it back quietly. IN CHAT. Call a place by your name for it — "the pass", "the lake". He asks which once, then reads it each time. And "up here" means where you are.

A new home, built around you. THE DAY AS HIS WALK. Under the verdict, Cloudman walks the hours — dressed for each one, with the temperature marked where it changes what you'd wear. Drag him along the day; let go and he comes home to now. WHAT MATTERS TO YOU. The facts you picked stand under the card, in the order the day calls for: whatever is over your line comes first, in colour, then the rest. Hold the home to add a fact or take one off, and choose whether each stands every day or speaks only when it matters. THE AIR. Air quality joins the facts, from the EPA's AirNow — “Good air · AQI 38” — and bad air speaks up for everyone from 101. TAP A FACT. Every row opens the day on that reading, and the Today sheet lists every reading in one order. And the hourly is one card with four looks — his walk, a strip, large, small — on every new home, and on yours if you want it.

Nearby knows its way around. NEARBY, WITH ITS BEARINGS. Rivers, parks, freeways and a few landmarks now sit under the temperatures, so the map reads like a map. Pinch out, or tap Zoom, and the region opens four times wider — the whole Bay and its towns. Tap a place and it takes the card; you're the dot marked YOU. NOW, ON THE GRAPH. The current hour stands lit on the day's columns and the hours gone by fade behind it — on the Today sheet and on the home's hourly card alike. THE DAY HE NAMES. Ask about Saturday, or which day is best for a swim, and the card under his reply is that day. Open it and the sheet is already on it. And the quiet ones: five recent places instead of three, alerts as a chip from the first sight, the way back from the chat slides instead of jumping, and holding a card to arrange your home answers with a two-beat tap.

Make the home yours. MAKE THE HOME YOURS. Hold any card on your home and it's yours to arrange. Tap Add to put the hourly forecast on the home in the size you like, then drag cards where you want them. Cloudman's own layout is always one tap away, and your arrangement follows you to a new phone. BIGGER TEXT. Turn up the text size and Cloudman keeps up — through every accessibility size, nothing cut off, every number whole. WHAT'S NEW, IN THE APP. One short video per release shows the new thing. Close it early and Settings › What's new keeps it for later. Cloudman also tells you when a newer version is out. And the quiet ones: a read alert folds into a chip, several alerts show as one line, his text says sun times with AM and PM, and a sent message arrives in one motion.

Share a place, and tomorrow's sunrise. SHARE A PLACE. Following a place for your team, your club or your family? Tap the share mark on its card and send the link. They get Cloudman's read on that place for the day and the full forecast — no app needed. TOMORROW'S SUNRISE. Planning an early start? In the Today sheet, tap Sunset and tomorrow's sunrise is right there. Sun times now say AM or PM. And the quiet ones: Nearby tries again when the map doesn't load, place cards stay fresh, and a few small fixes in editing and onboarding.

A second place, every time you open. ANOTHER PLACE, STANDING. Tell Cloudman "each time I open the app, also show me Belle Isle" and it stands: that place's card waits in the thread every time you open, and his morning text says how the day goes there — one paragraph per place, after yours. Two places beside your own. Stop from the card, or just tell him. THE DAYS AHEAD, BY WIND. Open a day ahead and the wind lane rests on the day's range — 6 to 21, gusts to 32 — with the peak hour lit. And the quiet ones: his replies reach the edge of the screen and wrap less, you can edit what he suggests in your own words, and when he can't do something yet he says so and passes it to the founder instead of inventing a limit.

Friday's poem, steadied before its first Friday. Cloudman takes a moment to write — the card now waits for him instead of giving up early. Sharing a poem sends the page alone, and the preview shows Cloudman. And the card sits in his column with everything else he hands you. Every Friday he writes your neighbourhood three lines. Tap the card under his morning text.

On Fridays, Cloudman writes. FRIDAY'S POEM. Every Friday he writes your neighbourhood a poem — three lines about where you live and what the sky did, never a number. A sealed card waits under his morning text; tap it and he writes it for you, then and there. It comes with the day up top — the date, the low and the high, fog then sun — and a Share button. What you share is a page anyone can open, with the poem and the day it was written for. THE WIDGET, IN HIS WORDS. His first text now introduces the Home Screen widget from his own column, and you can put the card away. Settings › Add widget to Home Screen is still there. And the quiet ones: the card for somewhere else reads in three plain lines, and the crash a few of you hit on the first Friday is gone.

Cloudman lives on your Home Screen now — and the forecast he gives you is yours. HE'S ON YOUR HOME SCREEN. The widget wears the weather: the temperature, where the day goes, and Cloudman dressed for it — tee, hoodie, rain jacket, puffy, parka — with no app to open. New users meet it on day one; everyone else has it in Settings › Add widget to Home Screen, with a guide that waits while you go and place it. YOUR FORECAST, YOURS. Tell him what matters — the wind on the ride, the UV at the beach, rain on the walk — and his morning text says it back, one line each, in the order you ranked. Tap him to read it. THE HOME, SETTLED. Ask him something and the day folds into his pocket; the week and the map ride along as coins. That is the home now, no switch. And the quiet ones: notes to the founder are answered faster, and the app knows the difference between you and us.

Cloudman's first update — and the day fits in his pocket now. ASK, AND THE CONVERSATION HAS THE SCREEN. When you ask him something, the day folds into his pill — the week and the map ride along as two coins. Tap him to come home. THE BEST DAY FOR IT. "Best beach day this week?" He scores every day and names the one, with the hour and the beach. Hikes and weekends too. SOMEWHERE ELSE. "Check weather in Monterey" hands you a card for there; tap it for the whole day. "Heading to Tahoe Friday" gets a trip brief with the clock at both ends. THE TODAY SHEET, REBUILT. The day as columns you can scrub, feels-like when it differs, wind and rain lanes when the day earns them, the week as a strip underneath. THE WEEK IN ROWS. One row a day, with what stands out — the wet stretch, the warmest day. Tap a day and it pushes over the week. NEARBY, HOUR BY HOUR. Time chips walk the map through the day. Tap a place and it takes the floor; the corner button brings you home. °F OR °C. Every degree in the unit you read. Settings › Units. And the quiet ones: the alert line folds to a mark once you've read it, the widget reads exactly what the app reads, a slow connection gets more patience, and he says why a fetch failed instead of shrugging.