I look out the window to see a Pilgrim gray sky. The gray that's milky. The one that looks like "dark white." The one that fills the entire sky with the same shade--no contrasts, no lights/darks. Just Pilgrim gray.
Whenever I see this sky I think of Plymouth Plantation. I think of New England. I think of Puritans settling a strange land. The colors of their landscape to match their religious outlook on life--bleak, cold, austere.
Pilgrim gray doesn't let the sun shine through. It's the color of depression. Of dampness. Of cold. It's the smell of wood-burning stoves mixed with hibernation and isolation.
I can't help but wonder . . . what would have happened if the Pilgrims had landed in Florida?
