A day, a live long day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light towards zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odours, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cats, dogs, butterflies, and people.
FROM:-
John Steinbeck - The Winter of our discontent._
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