the color of 6:53 pm

This afternoon the sun shone through a snowstorm which blew through my commute. The air ahead of me was fiery yellow, but in the rearview mirror all was slate blue. Why my car was not green magma, I'll never know.
It is also of some wonderment that if the transition of color was somewhere in the midst of my Saturn, it was really doing a remarkable job of keeping up, travelling at highway speeds as we were.

The rhythmic squeek of wipers across a sporadically damp windshield was too slow to blend with the nuevo-punk on my stereo, and did nothing whatsover for my headache. Apart, perhaps, from assisting it in it's annoyance of me.