The sky was like a cracked mirror, the rays of the dying sun spreading across it’s surface. In another age it might have been viewed with dread, with beseeches to deities.

But to my eye it is perfect. Perfect for itself, for what it portends.

I smile, wishing I had the talent to capture the sight on a canvas. But I will have to settle for a camera. Sufficient, but cold.

This will not be the last time for such a sight. Once more, at the very last. Before the world tilts just so and is never the same again.