The sky just turned the color of old bruises

I was driving back from a dry run near Hays, and the clouds rolled in like they’d been rehearsing all day. Not stormy—just heavy, low, that purple-gray you only see when the air’s holding its breath. I pulled over for five minutes just to watch it. The kind of moment where you forget why you’re chasing storms. You just want to be small under something so big it doesn’t care if you’re there.