The clouds gathered like a slow exhale, thick with promise and weight. I watched the sea respond in kind, rising to meet the storm with its own quiet turbulence. The brush moved as the sky did—sweeping, layered, unsettled. What emerged was not a storm itself, but the hush before it, the charged stillness where everything waits. I did not paint a forecast, but a mood. A deep-blue meditation on nature’s ability to shift without warning, and how, sometimes, the most honest gesture is simply to reflect what stirs around you.