The sky is honestly one of the most random things to think about, but it’s always there, so I do. It’s like nature’s big mood ring. In the morning, it’s all soft and pretty, like it’s just had a cup of coffee, with pinks and oranges, pretending to be calm and peaceful. But by afternoon, it’s like the sky gets a little cocky and goes full-on bright blue, acting like it owns the place. I swear it’s like, “Look at me! I’m so clear and perfect!” And I’m just down here like, “Okay, chill, I’m just trying to get through my day.”
But then, the real magic happens at sunset. The sky turns into this explosion of colors—reds, purples, golds—like someone just spilled a bucket of paint across the horizon. It’s like a fancy Instagram filter, but real life. I swear, it’s impossible to look at it and not feel like you’re in some movie montage, even if you’re just standing on your driveway in sweatpants. The sky knows what it’s doing. It makes you feel all deep and introspective, like you just figured out the meaning of life, even if it’s just that your pizza’s about to arrive.
And then at night, it’s like the sky hits “off” on all the colors and goes full spooky with the stars. It’s honestly kind of mind-blowing how many of them there are, and for some reason, every time I look up, I wonder if aliens are watching me. Like, what’s their deal? The sky is just out here, doing its thing, looking epic while I’m just trying not to trip over a rock.
