Rain speckled, shrouded in mist, what a gloomy, gray world it is outside my window. It seems more so because I sit snug in my pool of light, with a warm, steaming cup of tea and the buttery sweetness of a tart melting on my tongue. It makes me wonder at the need of sunlight to create warmth.
The warmth of the dappled sunlight is open, airy, sweet. The shadows are a pleasant, a gentle refuge, from the heat. The warmth of the sunlight sits in the soft curve of the mouth and flows through the rambling musings of the mind, alighting here and there with the gentleness of a butterfly.
Whereas that of a misty day lies in the deep shadows created by the artificial warmth and ambiance of a lamp. It lies in cheating the day of its chores and in the wicked glee of idleness. The warmth of a misty day sits in the corner of the eye and steals through the shadows of the mind, tiptoeing with the stealth of a thief.
The two, as different as night and day. The two, equally delightful, each in its own way.