rejectomorph | May a Lighter Shade of Gray

Another storm is moving in, but this one will be warmer. The soft green foliage and dark branches of the oaks are etched against the milky luminescence of a mother-of-pearl sky. The damp air is still. Small insects with translucent wings have returned to flight, swirling around the new blossoms. As yet, I have seen no butterflies this spring. The unaccustomed chill and rain has perhaps kept them in their chrysalides thus far. I myself rarely ventured far from my house in April. That May will be more conducive to walking is what I wish now. The butterflies and I both need to get out.