Thunderclouds

The storm brewing outside my office window never looks more beautiful or threatening than when it has an enemy. In an ignorant corner of the sky, the sun still sizzles, throwing into relief a sky some terrifying shade between blue and black.

It is the chiaroscuro cliché that the brightest light births the darkest shadow.

So I watch as the sky quarrels, lightning aggressively stabbing the ground with a backdrop of billowing dread, while the sun passively resists. Until, overcome by the western front, the sun disappears, taking the light out of the thunderclouds, which devolve into an unbroken slate of gray as blah as the dress pants I wear stuck in this office.