I've often thought that blue skies are overrated. They're so high maintenance. They're grossly dependent upon the sun. I only work with Sun. My hours are 8am-5pm and I prefer not to work with clouds. The entitlement, the privilege, the severe lack of character—it's just sickening.
Gray days are philosophical and sexy. They lend an element of mystery to the atmosphere. If gray days were a man, he'd be slightly rugged with a beard, and he'd read Yeats aloud to you while wearing his favorite L.L. Bean fisherman's sweater.
Yesterday was gray and foggy and lovely and enjoyable. You couldn't tell where the sky met the ground. The fog just whispered into the mountains, and they didn't even seem to mind. I didn't even seem to mind.