Gray Skies and Dishpan Hands
There’s a hole in the sky. Light peeks through, an exercise in futility. Pinkish, purplish, shades struggling to spread. It’s more like a stain in a endless sea of gray. A monochrome palette based in white.
For an instant there is hope. Only an instant. The struggling stain is swallowed almost as quickly as it appeared and the gray is once more.
Everywhere.
