The rain was so penetrating there was no chance of taking a walk that day.
Ceaseless rain sweeping away then a long and lamentable blast of wind.
Rain beating ceaselessly against the window, the a low moaning wind.
The inclemency of the English weather - think of Jane Austen's weather consciousness novels and Charles Dickens prevailing fogs which, in Peter Ackroyd's words, lower a dark veil of secrecy over the landscape. English writes through the ages have observed and written of the weather's minutest caprices, they have observed the weather as if it was a woman, or at least a human body, this in Peter Ackroyds view is neither allegory or personification, but recognition of landscape as an organic being with its own laws of growth and change.
Turner's paintings for instance were 'light' (weather) modified by objects.
Ceaseless rain sweeping away then a long and lamentable blast of wind.
Rain beating ceaselessly against the window, the a low moaning wind.
The inclemency of the English weather - think of Jane Austen's weather consciousness novels and Charles Dickens prevailing fogs which, in Peter Ackroyd's words, lower a dark veil of secrecy over the landscape. English writes through the ages have observed and written of the weather's minutest caprices, they have observed the weather as if it was a woman, or at least a human body, this in Peter Ackroyds view is neither allegory or personification, but recognition of landscape as an organic being with its own laws of growth and change.
Turner's paintings for instance were 'light' (weather) modified by objects.
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