Squeamish Sun.

I sit here at this desk; I sit here watching the Sun die in the clouds. The Sun being suffocated by the clouds succumbing to the darkness. The Sun almost a dead light drawing the parallels of one single firefly in the darkness of Autumn on the Eastern Shore to which I lived for a few years. The Sun no longer blazing in the sky of blue that it creates; the Sun set from a blazing yellowish-orange to a dull dirty-snow white through the thickness of the clouds. Nothing being porous through these clouds; hell, not even a star as powerful and bright as the Sun can burn off the mundane gristle of the clouds. Only once will the Sun gasp to darkness to be born again tomorrow...perhaps.