It is a day..

Yes. It is a day of many many days. Morning, afternoon, evening, and approaching night. Not my usual self. Quiet by the day and quiet by the night. Thoughtful? Or just plain thoughtful as the birds flown by. Feel to write something. Here I am writing my thought and I am finding myself still okay. But the zest is somewhat different. Despite that, everything is still there. All of them have left and heading home. By now, approaching the stillness of the night, I guess they are already home. Things seems so quiet now. I am here entertaining the somewhat sombre mood of a man that is me. What I think and what I touch gracefully turns into a philosophy that defines the day but not the night. Any way. It is a day! It is a real day.