Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

The sky was grey.

Not blue with no clouds. Not while with all clouds. Not blue-white with some clouds.

Not anywhere in between.

Just grey.

It didn’t seem an angry grey that boded the promise of an oncoming storm, a ferociously charged grey that barely restrained lightning, a growling grey whose rumbled thunder shakes the ground.

Not at all. This grey was unimposing. As if it coated the sky in such a neutral color so as to be forgotten.

My kind of grey.

The grey luster of a single strand of pearls. Elegant, but often worn with much louder, much brighter pieces of clothing that drew the attention of the wandering eye.

The grey of the package of Earl Grey tea. Simple and flavorful but often overlooked amidst the colorful flashes that advertised for Dragonfruit Devotion, Berry Kiwi Colada, or Raspberry Riot Lemon Mate.

The grey of the ocean on days when no photographers are there to document its understated beauty. After all, no one wants to see a motionless grey ocean on a post card.

There was nothing scheduled for today. Nothing important, nothing demanded, nothing at all to do.

I almost forgot the sky was grey.

My kind of grey.

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