The golden-brown and bright Sky.

Here’s another one of those sky memories that has never left me, even all these years after I went blind.

It was a bright sunny day—so bright you’d never expect a thunderstorm to sneak up on it. But I remember standing there, looking up as the sky started to shift. First, the clouds began gathering together, but not in a scary way—more like they were building up slowly, piece by piece. On the left side, and across the middle of the sky, the clouds were still mostly bright. I could see cracks of blue sky peeking through, like tiny windows reminding me that the sun was still up there somewhere.

But it was the right side of the sky that changed everything.

Suddenly, the color turned to this yellowish dark brown—a golden, murky shade that reminded me of pancakes cooking on a griddle, just a little darker than golden brown. It didn’t look like any sky I’d ever seen before. It looked crazy. It looked alive.

It was one of those moments where the world feels like it’s trying to show you something. Not scary, exactly—but powerful. Electric. Like the sky was holding its breath right before the first rumble of thunder.

I saw that long before I ever lost my sight. But the memory of it? It’s still just as clear in my mind now as it was back then.

And maybe even more beautiful now that I can only see it from the inside.

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