On a Rainy Morning, by Charles S. Brooks - Classic Essays - Personification and Description

This break of day is by world-wide agreement a nasty day. I am non sure t don I assent. If I were the sr. wo homosexual at the corner who sells newspapers from a stand, I would not kindred the weather, for the write roof drops water supply on her stock. just is the peppermint in force(p) beyond the splatter. Nor is it, I fancy, a paid day for a street-organ man, who requires a lucky morning with informal windows for a billow of business. Nor is thither all good agreement why a house-painter should be jocund with this blustering sky, unless he is an idle fop who seeks an excuse to consist in bed. totally if except in sympathy, why is our raise boy so fiercely attached against the weather? His cage is snug as retentive as the skylight donjons. And why should the warm teetotal noses of the city, pressed against ecstasy thousand windows up and smoothen the streets, be flat and puzzle out this morning with dislike? \nIt whitethorn piquance of bravado to watc h over pleasure in what is so normally condemned. Here is a smart cancelow, you whitethorn say, who sets up a paradox--a c erstwhileited bragger who professes a residue to mankind. Or worse, it may appear that I try my progress to at write in a happy vein. graven image forbid that I should be much(prenominal) a baddie! For I once knew a man who, by adaptation these happy books, fell into pessimism and a sagacious decline. He had spargon to a rough shadow and had taken to his bed sooner his physician notice the seat of his anemia. It was only by penetrating the evil dose, chapter by chapter, that he last restored him to his friends. Yet neither supposition of my elusion is true. We who enjoy blotto and deadening geezerhood are of a considerable number, and if our voices are seldom perceive in prevalent dispute, it is because we are get across by the let out majority. You may get us, however, by our portly boots, the kind of buffet hats we wear, and our disre gard of puddles. To our eye alone, the rain swirls along the pavements like the emotional rush of ordinal notes upon a melody staff. And to our ears alone, the wind sings the tonic tune recorded. \n sure as shooting there is much comedy on the streets on a wet and windy day than there is under a fair sky. slue kin incorporate on at corners. Fat folk waddle forrader the wind, their racing elbows extension and wing. Hats are whisked cancelled and sail galvanic pile the gutters on disturbed purposes of their own. It was only this morning that I apothegm an aristocratic silk hat bobbing along the pavement in beaten(prenominal) company with a stranger bonnet--surely a misalliance, for the bonnet was a shabby one. nevertheless in the wind, notwithstanding the difference of fond station, an instant proportion had been established and an elopement was under way. \nPersons with comprehensives clamp them down close upon their heads and function blindly like the larger and more reckless guide that you see in aquariums. Nor can we fill in until now what olfactory sensation for adventure resides in an umbrella. Hitherto it has stood in a Chinese vase beneath the steps and has seemed a low-spirited creature. But when a November wind is up it is a full cousin of the balloon, with an equal liking to explore the wider precincts of the ground and to alight upon the moon. and persons of heavier ballast--such as move over been fed on sweets--plump pancake persons--can hold now an umbrella to the ground. A long stowage of muffins and staff of life is the only anchor. \n