It will be Two years next week. Clouds of ash, still hang heavy in the sky, falling where and whenever they want. The only colors we see are shades of gray. Light grays, darks grays and shades in-between. Everything is some shade of gray. Radio, TV, nothing works. Every plant is dead. No clean water No doctors. No cops. We have disease. Gangs roam, looking for food, water, they take. Starvation is no longer a worry, it is the standard. Some of the people that are left, see the breaks in the ash clouds, hopeing this is the start of the ending, of the ash. They think the white on the horizon are "clean" clouds. They are not. The white is just the finer ash, broken down to dust, very fine dust. Dust that will devastate even more. Maybe next year at this time, the skys will be clear or maybe not.