I Think There’s a Metaphor Here

The sky is nothing more than a stormy gray.

Pale gray clouds cover every inch of visible sky, high above the crooked and broken trees reaching up towards it.

The barest purple tint can be noticed by the observing eye, but no one looks up for more than a second. No one notices anything more than a storm gray.

White flakes gleefully drift downwards, a fluffy dust on shovelled sidewalks, and a blanket on the coated ground. All coming from the unnoticed sky, doing so much to gather attention.

No one ever looks up anymore, for but the barest second. No one notices the purple glow or the flawless sheet.

No one notices that the sky is more than a stormy gray. Not even I.