Rain, Part One: "The Ghost Of Old Unhappiness That Cannot Rest"

If you live in this part of the world long enough, you begin to develop an appreciation for the varieties of rain:  fine, yet insistent, mist; day-long and night-long windless grey curtains; late-afternoon squalls of white sheets sweeping across Puget Sound.

In time, you realize that you have discarded your umbrellas in favor of hats and hooded rain-jackets.  And then, in the middle of the night, after many years, you discover that the sound of rain pattering on the window-panes has long been a source of reassurance.

Peter Graham, "A Spate in the Highlands" (1866)

The following poem is from a series that L. A. G. Strong wrote while living on the coast of western Scotland.

          Rain

It is the ghost
Of old unhappiness
That cannot rest,
Though it has long forgotten
Why it sighs.

Lost joy, lost grief --
A tremor on the sea,
A thin, sad rain
Drifting unhappily
To whisper on the shore.

Too soft an air, too sad
For human hearts.
Too soft, too chill a sound
For human ears.

L. A. G. Strong, Northern Light (1930).

The poem is a bit melancholy, but there are times when the unremitting mists and showers -- especially in the short, dark days of winter -- can awaken the feelings he speaks of.

Peter Graham, "Wandering Shadows" (1878)