in Thoreau’s Journal:
At length before sun down it begins to rain—you can hardly say when it began…dripping & pattering…is quite cheering. It is long since I heard it. One of those serious & normal storms—Not a shower which you can see through— Something regular—a fall (?) rain—coincident with a different mood or season of the mind not a transient cloud that drops rain.
Methinks the truly weather-wise will know themselves—& find the signs of rain in their own moods—the aspect of their own skies or thoughts & questions about the weather without thinking. Does a mind in sympathy with nature need a hygrometer?