Violet bounces even harder than blue
True! But the sun sends only a little violet, and your eyes have far more blue sensors than violet ones. Your brain mixes the rest and settles on blue.
A real science answer you can read in one go — with a light machine to push, a cup of milk, and a sun you can drag.
Start the answerSunlight looks white, doesn't it? That is a trick.
White light is really seven colours holding hands: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. They are all in the beam already. Your eyes just can't pick them apart while they are huddled together.
Press the beam. Make them let go of each other.
The sky does this same trick — but it only pulls out one colour.
A raindrop does this to sunlight and you get a rainbow. The sky does it a little bit, every single day.
Can you see the air right now? No. So it feels like nothing is there.
But air is made of teeny tiny bits — so tiny that a million of them could have a picnic on the full stop at the end of this sentence. The two kinds of bit with the longest names are called nitrogen and oxygen.
Above your head there is a wall of this stuff about 100 kilometres tall. Scientists call the whole wall the atmosphere. Sunlight has to push through all of it to reach the top of your head.
And when light pushes through bits, it bounces off them. Bouncing light has a science name too:
SCATTERING.
Because that is where you are looking through the thickest, cleanest part of the air wall. Near the horizon the light has travelled further and picked up paler, washed-out colours — which is why sky-blue fades to pale whitish-blue as it gets close to the ground.
Say it with me: scat — ter — ing. It just means bouncing every which way.
Light travels in waves, like ripples in a puddle. Each colour makes waves of a different size.
Red waves are long and lazy — the size of a fat earthworm.
Blue and violet waves are short and bouncy — the size of a grain of sand.
Now remember: the air bits are tiny. A long red wave is big enough to step right over them. A short blue wave is not — it trips, bumps and bounces off, again and again, in every direction at once.
That is the whole answer. Blue light gets thrown around the sky by the air, so it arrives at your eyes from every direction — even from the parts of the sky the sun is not in.
This is called Rayleigh scattering, after Lord Rayleigh, who worked it out in 1871. Say "RALE-lee" — like the deer.
You cannot see air bits. But you can see what bouncing light looks like, with milk.
Too much milk and it just looks like porridge. Add another drop of water if that happens.
Drag the sun. Watch what happens to the sky when the sun gets low.
At midday the sun is above you, so its light only pushes through a short slice of air. Blue bounces out sideways and the sky is blue.
At sunset the light has to slide through a much, much thicker slice of air to reach your eyes — about ten times more. By then almost every bit of blue has already bounced away and gone somewhere else. What is left in the beam is the long, lazy stuff: red, orange and yellow.
A sunset is not a different sky. It is the same blue sky with the blue taken out.
And the same rule explains something else. Go right to the top of the air, where there is almost none left, and the sky turns black — no bits, no bouncing, no blue. Astronauts see a black sky at high noon, with stars in it. The only bright thing is the sun itself.
Airless space is black in every direction, because there is nothing there to throw the sunlight around.
True! But the sun sends only a little violet, and your eyes have far more blue sensors than violet ones. Your brain mixes the rest and settles on blue.
A cloud drop is about a hundred times fatter than an air bit. Big things bounce all the colours the same amount, so nothing gets picked out. All the colours together look white.
Some of it is the sky's blue bouncing off the surface. But water itself drinks up red light and sends blue light back. That's why a deep glass of water looks faintly blue too.
Climb high enough and the sky goes from pale blue to deep indigo, because there is less and less air left above you to do the bouncing.
Dust, not air, does the bouncing there — and dust is big. It scatters red, so Mars is butterscotch-pink by day and blue around the setting sun.
Get all three and you can explain the sky to anyone in your house. Try it out loud — saying it is the best way to find out if you really know it.
Keep going…
Go outside just after the sun has gone down and look at the patch of sky where the sun was. It is often a deep blue-violet. That is the last of the scattered blue light, still bouncing.
It only looks white because they are travelling in a bundle.
Mostly nitrogen and oxygen, stacked about a hundred kilometres high.
Blue and violet waves are short, so they get scattered in every direction.
Look left, look right, look up — the whole sky is throwing blue at you.
Same trick, different time of day. That's it. That's the answer.