It’s a wonderful, mysterious thing.
Sometimes it’s a perfect
deep sapphire, the sun piercing
through it like a beautiful
Other times, it’s hurt and bruised
with grey and green,
crying dull, cold tears.
It could be filled with rage,
through a grey canvas,
a billowing mass of dark magic.
Or maybe a gentle,
wispy white clouds
floating lazily around and whispering
to each other on a serene breeze.
Changeable, unreliable, unpredictable.