It happens to be such a morning as I write this. The first chill, misty, rainy morning we’ve had in a long time and so much needed. Of course, the spirit seeks sunshine and blue skies, but you can also smell and sense the plants and trees soaking up the long-awaited downpour, filling out their thirsting cells with welcome water.

Still, I like the notion that when these mornings persist, they can make even happy people start dipping in to their stores of hope to keep themselves cheerful.

‘It was a dark, chill, misty morning, likely to end in rain – one of those mornings when even happy people take refuge in their hopes.’

Source: George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), p. 239

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