Whomever Allah placed in charge of the sky has bungled it. It’s the wrong color.
There are colors that are sky colors and a good variety of them, too. On any given day, I might see a sky that is cobalt or sapphire, perhaps even trailing off into the realm of cerulean or arctic at times. City nights of denim follow sunsets of candy apple or vermillion. Nearly anything can happen, just like white skies in Egypt or green skies on the northern Turkish coast.
I am trying to tell you that I am not a person easily shocked or confused when I look up.
Yet this morning, I felt fear – genuine brassy fear! – while I drove down the freeway, for the sky was not a sky color at all. It was something else, yet the other drivers seemed too busy texting to notice.
It was something between army green and asparagus, only not either of these, and not something appearing on the usual spectrum for any purpose, sky or non-sky.
“What kind of cthulhic madness is this?!” I said and I briefly considered getting other drivers’ attention. Instead I called my sister, who sensed my panic as I related my concerns about the planet having moved or the paints having been stirred improperly.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Try not to think about it.”
So that is what I’ve been doing all day: Not thinking about the alien sky outside my window.
If this is The End, I am prepared.
(*NOTE: Good news! I wrote this on Wednesday. It was not The End.)