Few things are more soothing
Than the shy sigh of steady showers
Stately silhouettes under sudden lightning
And stony skies that sulk and thunder
Over shivering shapes of sodden trees
While the world prepares to go to sleep.

And then the early morning blooms
Into brilliant beams of beatific gold
That break the baleful, binding gloom
And slip between billowing folds
To blanket bedding in blazing warmth
And halt the dreams of sleeping forms.


“A thousand stars were flashing across the blue wastes of the sky. One seemed alone with an inscrutable society. All human beings were laid asleep – prone, horizontal, dumb. ”

Excerpt From: Virginia Woolf. “A Room of One’s Own.”