This day

This morning promises to be dense and gloomy, with a sliver of damp chill running through it. 

It feels a bit like hill stations on a clean quiet day. 

Days like these make you want to nestle in a comfortable grotto of solitary solace; unperturbed by realities of the world outside. Something like living in a small tent under your table. Cocooned in safety. 

The dark outside could be a precursor of light rains or an indication for the up and coming winter days. 

The grey in the sky is gloomy, but not depressingly so. It has not the merest desolate hint of morbid despondency, rather in fact, it's more like a jaunty uplifting drear.

The kind of day when you cheerfully chain smoke, drinks pots of coffee or tea, stand in the balcony for hours watching the smoke from between your fingers swirl into tresses of white fog and fade into nothing. 

The kind of day when you get unreasonable goosebumps, and food tastes better; when you make phone calls to your friends and family, voluntarily so. 

It's cheerfully melancholic and optimistically broken hearted.. A bundle of dreadfully delightful contradictions, this day.