A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
There's always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down.
The storm starts, when the drops start dropping. When the drops stop dropping then the storm starts stopping.
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.
Rain! whose soft architectural hands have power to cut stones, and chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains.