A steady and affectionate shower fell this morning, and every adamant droplet rushing from its vapoury port, when realising its terminus in my eyes, reduced at once its ire to a fine and delicate mist, that would sorrily fall the other way if it could. Kissing my lashes like snowflakes, they rest there, huddling globes of lightness, that I dare not blink them away, – and finally my frown is useful; channels on my brow, for the courser divers; the larger orbs, that fell together, came together or simply broke too late.
But this effluence from above with the flurry in the avenues bears remarkably the same tragic withheld presage that impresses on a still and starry night alone in the wigwam of your wilderness. Of all her moods and mobility, Nature retains yet her stability and perfection.
I was about done concluding my reverie, when a madman saddling a canary yellow vesper trots into my enclosure and remarks for the second time how advantageous it were for two-wheelers on days like this that so few others were out. Before I could mind how many more imperilling vehicles we’d thus contend with, he loosed a frenzied hilarity from the surging earth of his being, out of the caldera in his face and I noticed then how the drops crashed into his cheeks with all the unrepentant Kamikaze they could. Our unaffected knight lunged his brave and abiding steed into a difference and sailed like satin into the streets,- and I figured how grand it were that we’re all just down here together, while there are among us still those rarefied agents who read the magic in the pits of the midnight black between the stars and raindrops.