The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you’d just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency. ~ Susan Allen Toth, England For All Seasons
I’m not sure a day and a half of gloomy skies and autumn rain qualifies as cozy, especially since I must be out in it running back and forth to errands, work, and such. Perhaps I’d feel more cozy about the rainy day if I were tucked away with a cup of coffee and a good book.
I know I’d be happier about it if I didn’t realize this marks the beginning of the end of autumn. Oh, I realize officially autumn doesn’t end until the start of the holiday season and the winter solstice, but autumn is fading. The leaves are past their peak, and these days of rain drive them off the trees to the ground, leaving starkly bare branches and piles of once-beautiful, now-brown foliage. While early autumn brings the vivid changes of green to magnificent color, late autumn, this autumn, brings changes from color to gloom – brown leaves, empty trees, and the knowledge that winter-white landscapes are not too far away.
So while looking out the window at the gray and gloomy day, here are a couple of poems to echo my mood.
“Rain In My Heart”
by Edgar Lee Masters
There is a quiet in my heart
Like on who rests from days of pain.
Outside, the sparrows on the roof
Are chirping in the dripping rain.
Rain in my heart; rain on the roof;
And memory sleeps beneath the gray
And the windless sky and brings no dreams
Of any well remembered day.
I would not have the heavens fair,
Nor golden clouds, nor breezes mild,
But days like this, until my heart
To loss of you is reconciled.
I would not see you. Every hope
To know you as you were has ranged.
I, who am altered, would not find
The face I loved so greatly changed.
“Chanson d’automne” (“Autumn Song”)
by Paul Verlaine
(Translated from the original French)
The long sobs
Of the violins
Wound my heart
With a monotonous
And pale, when
The hour chimes,
Days of old
And I cry
And I’m going
On an ill wind
That carries me
Here and there,
As if a
How do you pass gloomy, rainy autumn day?