Layers of Gray

The weather today has been cold and misty. I like it. Not for long periods of time, but today it was kind of calming. As soon as I got home from school I threw on a coat and gloves and walked out to the end of our street. Our neighborhood sits on one of many hills in the area, and we have a great view of an enormous nearby ranch. I shuffled to my favorite spot and peered out at the horizon. My breath was taken away. All I could see for miles and miles were soft sheets of gray, each time growing a little whiter and a little denser than the one before.

I took a hundred photos. I shot from every angle; from the ground, on my tiptoes, leaning to the side. I trudged back to the house, wiped the drizzle off of my camera, and plugged in the memory card, fully expecting to post my favorite.

And in the end, none of them did the actual view justice.

There were so many intricate layers that I never found one that displayed them all at once. I sat for almost an hour, though, going through each picture and changing the saturation, the tints, and the contrast; increasing and decreasing, increasing and decreasing. Every time I changed a setting, a new layer appeared. It was great.

It was like an onion.

Or like nail polish.

Or like personalities.

Or like God.