Today has been one of those lazy days, which I have spent lounging on the couch, when there is a perceptible whiff of the approaching monsoon hanging in the air and the fierce summer heat mellowing into an almost pleasant warmth. The kind of day that reminds you of frolicking childhood vacations now lit with an omnipresent sunshine of nostalgic origin, and bring back vividly imagined scenes out of an old Enid Blyton, especially of picnics in gardens with marmalade, apple pies and puddings, scented roses, daisies and daffodils with cousins who have come over to spend their vacations with you and everyone is happy, smiling and joyful and everything is resplendent.
The kind of day in the present when u lie under the pleasant air cooled by the fan, curled up with a Thomas Hardy as he takes you around on a venture limited sheerly by the reader's imagination. Sipping on lemonade which is too sweet, I empathize with the protagonist, while pigeons outside the french windows have unhindered access to the balcony and perform interesting antics that at times distract the reader.
Also the kind of day which while maturing makes you grow contemplative over the past and curious about the future and gives you a kind of luxurious freedom to view the unwinding tapestry of your life, as only a distant observer can, a time when you can disconnect from the present, uninhibited by any thought and view the marvelous colors life has been adorned with.
.
No comments :
Post a Comment