XXXIX.

"Early Morning Rain"

by Gordon Lightfoot

In the early morning rain with a dollar in my hand
With an aching in my heart and my pockets full of sand
Now, I'm a long way from home and I miss my loved ones so
In the early morning rain with no place to go

Out on runway number nine a big 707's set to go
But, I'm stuck here in the grass where the cold wind blows
Now, the liquor tasted good and the women all were fast
Well, there she goes, my friend, well she's going down at last

Hear the mighty engines roar - see the silver bird on high
She's away and westward bound - far above the clouds she'll fly

There the morning rain don't fall and the sun always shines
She'll be flying over my home in about three hours time

This old airport's got me down - it's no earthly good to me
'cause I'm stuck here on the ground as cold and drunk as I can be
You can't jump a jet plane like you can a freight train
So, I'd best be on my way in the early morning rain

You can't jump a jet plane like you can a freight train
So, I'd best be on my way in the early morning rain

""Early Morning Rain" (sometimes "Early Mornin' Rain") is a song composed and recorded by Canadian singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot. The song appears on his 1966 debut album Lightfoot! and in a re-recorded version on the 1975 compilation Gord's Gold.

Lightfoot composed the song in 1964, but the genesis of the song took root during his sojourn in Westlake, Los Angeles during 1960. During this time Lightfoot became homesick and would go out to the Los Angeles airport on rainy days to watch the approach of aircraft.  The imagery of the flights taking off into the overcast sky was still with him when in 1964, about five years later he was caring for his 5-month-old baby son and he thought “I’ll put him over here in his crib, and I’ll write myself a tune.”    

"Early Morning Rain" was the result.

The lyrics suggest someone down on his luck, standing at an airport fence and observing the thunderous takeoff of a Boeing 707 jetliner. The general narrative of the song can be taken as a jet-age musical allegory to a hobo of yesteryear lurking around a railroad yard attempting to surreptitiously board and ride a freight train to get home. Lightfoot reflects that being able to capture this narrative was due to his steady improvement as a song writer."

Source: wikipedia

XXXV.

Like Rain it Sounded Till it Curved 

~by Emily Dickinson

Like Rain it sounded till it curved

And then I new 'twas Wind -

It walked as wet as any Wave

But swept as dry as sand -

When it had pushed itself away

To some remotest Plain

A coming as of Hosts was heard

It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools

It warbled in the Road -

It pulled the spigot from the Hills

And let the Floods abroad -

It loosened acres, lifted seas

The sites of Centres stirred

Then like Elijah rode away

Upon a Wheel of Cloud.

XXXIV.

CHAPTER 7  of DRACULA, by Bram Stoker

CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH", 8 AUGUST

(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)

From a correspondent.

Whitby.

"One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in the neighborhood of Whitby. The steamers Emma and Scarborough made trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of `tripping' both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff churchyard, and from the commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of `mares tails' high in the sky to the northwest. The wind was then blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical language is ranked `No. 2, light breeze.'

The coastguard on duty at once made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds, that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset colour, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold, with here and there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the sketches of the `Prelude to the Great Storm' will grace the R. A and R. I. walls in May next.

More than one captain made up his mind then and there that his `cobble' or his `mule', as they term the different classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed. The wind fell away entirely during the evening, and at midnight there was a dead calm, a sultry heat, and that prevailing intensity which, on the approach of thunder, affects persons of a sensitive nature.

There were but few lights in sight at sea, for even the coasting steamers, which usually hug the shore so closely, kept well to seaward, and but few fishing boats were in sight. The only sail noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westwards. The foolhardiness or ignorance of her officers was a prolific theme for comment whilst she remained in sight, and efforts were made to signal her to reduce sail in the face of her danger. Before the night shut down she was seen with sails idly flapping as she gently rolled on the undulating swell of the sea.

"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."

Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming.

Then without warning the tempest broke. With a rapidity which, at the time, seemed incredible, and even afterwards is impossible to realize, the whole aspect of nature at once became convulsed. The waves rose in growing fury, each over-topping its fellow, till in a very few minutes the lately glassy sea was like a roaring and devouring monster. White-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the shelving cliffs. Others broke over the piers, and with their spume swept the lanthorns of the lighthouses which rise from the end of either pier of Whitby Harbour.

The wind roared like thunder, and blew with such force that it was with difficulty that even strong men kept their feet, or clung with grim clasp to the iron stanchions. It was found necessary to clear the entire pier from the mass of onlookers, or else the fatalities of the night would have increased manifold. To add to the difficulties and dangers of the time, masses of sea-fog came drifting inland. White, wet clouds, which swept by in ghostly fashion, so dank and damp and cold that it needed but little effort of imagination to think that the spirits of those lost at sea were touching their living brethren with the clammy hands of death, and many a one shuddered as the wreaths of sea-mist swept by.

At times the mist cleared, and the sea for some distance could be seen in the glare of the lightning, which came thick and fast, followed by such peals of thunder that the whole sky overhead seemed trembling under the shock of the footsteps of the storm.

Some of the scenes thus revealed were of immeasurable grandeur and of absorbing interest. The sea, running mountains high, threw skywards with each wave mighty masses of white foam, which the tempest seemed to snatch at and whirl away into space. Here and there a fishing boat, with a rag of sail, running madly for shelter before the blast, now and again the white wings of a storm-tossed seabird. On the summit of the East Cliff the new searchlight was ready for experiment, but had not yet been tried. The officers in charge of it got it into working order, and in the pauses of onrushing mist swept with it the surface of the sea. Once or twice its service was most effective, as when a fishing boat, with gunwale under water, rushed into the harbour, able, by the guidance of the sheltering light, to avoid the danger of dashing against the piers. As each boat achieved the safety of the port there was a shout of joy from the mass of people on the shore, a shout which for a moment seemed to cleave the gale and was then swept away in its rush.

Before long the searchlight discovered some distance away a schooner with all sails set, apparently the same vessel which had been noticed earlier in the evening. The wind had by this time backed to the east, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers on the cliff as they realized the terrible danger in which she now was.

Between her and the port lay the great flat reef on which so many good ships have from time to time suffered, and, with the wind blowing from its present quarter, it would be quite impossible that she should fetch the entrance of the harbour.

It was now nearly the hour of high tide, but the waves were so great that in their troughs the shallows of the shore were almost visible, and the schooner, with all sails set, was rushing with such speed that, in the words of one old salt, "she must fetch up somewhere, if it was only in hell". Then came another rush of sea-fog, greater than any hitherto, a mass of dank mist, which seemed to close on all things like a gray pall, and left available to men only the organ of hearing, for the roar of the tempest, and the crash of the thunder, and the booming of the mighty billows came through the damp oblivion even louder than before. The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless.

The wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and the remnant of the sea fog melted in the blast. And then, mirabile dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on the deck at all.

A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man! However, all took place more quickly than it takes to write these words. The schooner paused not, but rushing across the harbour, pitched herself on that accumulation of sand and gravel washed by many tides and many storms into the southeast corner of the pier jutting under the East Cliff, known locally as Tate Hill Pier.

There was of course a considerable concussion as the vessel drove up on the sand heap. Every spar, rope, and stay was strained, and some of the `top-hammer' came crashing down. But, strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand.

Making straight for the steep cliff, where the churchyard hangs over the laneway to the East Pier so steeply that some of the flat tombstones, thruffsteans or through-stones, as they call them in Whitby vernacular, actually project over where the sustaining cliff has fallen away, it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight.

It so happened that there was no one at the moment on Tate Hill Pier, as all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or were out on the heights above. Thus the coastguard on duty on the eastern side of the harbour, who at once ran down to the little pier, was the first to climb aboard. The men working the searchlight, after scouring the entrance of the harbour without seeing anything, then turned the light on the derelict and kept it there. The coastguard ran aft, and when he came beside the wheel, bent over to examine it, and recoiled at once as though under some sudden emotion. This seemed to pique general curiosity, and quite a number of people began to run.

It is a good way round from the West Cliff by the Draw-bridge to Tate Hill Pier, but your correspondent is a fairly good runner, and came well ahead of the crowd. When I arrived, however, I found already assembled on the pier a crowd, whom the coastguard and police refused to allow to come on board. By the courtesy of the chief boatman, I was, as your correspondent, permitted to climb on deck, and was one of a small group who saw the dead seaman whilst actually lashed to the wheel.

It was no wonder that the coastguard was surprised, or even awed, for not often can such a sight have been seen. The man was simply fastened by his hands, tied one over the other, to a spoke of the wheel. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the set of beads on which it was fastened being around both wrists and wheel, and all kept fast by the binding cords. The poor fellow may have been seated at one time, but the flapping and buffeting of the sails had worked through the rudder of the wheel and had dragged him to and fro, so that the cords with which he was tied had cut the flesh to the bone.

Accurate note was made of the state of things, and a doctor, Surgeon J. M. Caffyn, of 33, East Elliot Place, who came immediately after me, declared, after making examination, that the man must have been dead for quite two days.

In his pocket was a bottle, carefully corked, empty save for a little roll of paper, which proved to be the addendum to the log.

The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth. The fact that a coastguard was the first on board may save some complications later on, in the Admiralty Court, for coastguards cannot claim the salvage which is the right of the first civilian entering on a derelict. Already, however, the legal tongues are wagging, and one young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the statues of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.

It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death, a steadfastness as noble as that of the young Casabianca, and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

Already the sudden storm is passing, and its fierceness is abating. Crowds are scattering backward, and the sky is beginning to redden over the Yorkshire wolds.

I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship which found her way so miraculously into harbour in the storm."

XXV.

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

These famous words are the opening line from the first paragraph of the 1830 English novel entitled, Paul Clifford by Edward Bulwer-Lytton. The novel tells the life of Paul Clifford, a man who leads a dual life as both a criminal and an well-to-do gentleman.

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

In actuality, the very first paragraph of the novel are NOT those exact words, but are the third stanza from a poem, written by George Crabbe, called The Parish Workhouse.   Crabbe was one the earliest of English realistic poets, called the "poet of the poor." In this case, Edward Bulwer-Lytton uses the third stanza of Crabbe's poem, after which he begins the famous line, "It was a dark and stormy night....":

"Say ye, oppressed by some fantastic woes,

Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose;

Who press the downy couch while slaves advance

With timid eye, to read the distant glance;

Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease,

To name the nameless ever-new disease;

Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,

Which real pain and that alone can cure:

How would ye bear in real pain to lie,

Despised, neglected, left alone to die?

How would ye bear to draw your latest breath

Where all that’s wretched paves the way for death?"

Much debate still rages on as to whether Edward Bulwer-Lytton was a literary genius or simply a mediocre novelist.  Bulwer-Lytton's great-great-great grandson, defended his ancestor, stating that the writer is believed,

"to have been the first person to have penned a cliché was a mark of genius". He said that Bulwer-Lytton invented a raft of sayings we still use today, including "the pen is mightier than the sword", "the great unwashed" and "the almighty dollar"." - theguardian.com

Bulwer-Lytton also wrote the following novels:

Eugene Aram (1832) 

Godolphin (1833) 

The Last Days of Pompeii (1834) 

Leila: or The Siege of Granada (1838) 

Zanoni (1842) 

The Last of the Barons (1843) 

The Caxtons (1849) 

Vril (1871)

And, let us never forget Snoopy's parody....

..."and suddenly, a shot rang out!"

Here is the full first paragraph of Paul Clifford:

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. Through one of the obscurest quarters of London, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the police, a man, evidently of the lowest orders, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the quartier in which they were situated, and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with. All the answers he received were couched in the negative; and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent. At length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy butcher, after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added, "But if this vill do as vell, Dummie, it is quite at your sarvice!" Pausing reflectively for a moment, Dummie responded that he thought the thing proffered might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket, he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and the rain would allow. He soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters, was written "Thames Court." Halting at the most conspicuous of these buildings, an inn or alehouse, through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. He was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person."

Denise Goodwin 8/22/15

XXIII.

TAXI

It was raining hard in 'Frisco

I needed one more fare to make my night

A lady up ahead waved to flag me down

She got in at the lights

"Oh, where you going to, my lady blue?"

It's a shame you ruined your gown in the rain

She just looked out the window, she said

"Sixteen Park side Lane"

Something about her was familiar

I could swear I'd seen her face before

But she said, "I'm sure you're mistaken"

Then she didn't say anything more

It took a while but she looked in the mirror

Then she glanced at the license for my name

A smile seemed to come to her slowly

It was a sad smile, just the same

And she said, "How are you, Harry?"

I said, "How are you, Sue?

Through the too many miles and the too little smiles

I still remember you"

It was somewhere in a fairy tale

I used to take her home in my car

We learned about love in the back of a Dodge

The lesson hadn't gone too far

You see, she was gonna be an actress

And I was gonna learn to fly

She took off to find the footlights

I took off to find the sky

Oh, I've got something inside me

To drive a princess blind

There's a wild man, wizard

He's hiding in me, illuminating my mind

Oh, I've got something inside me

But it's not what my life's about

'Cause I've been letting my outside tide me

Over till my time runs out

Baby's so high that she's skying

Yes she's flying, afraid to fall

I'll tell you why baby's crying

She's dying, aren't we all?

There was not much more for us to talk about

Whatever we had once was gone

So I turned my cab into the driveway

Past the gates and the fine trimmed lawns

And she said, "We must get together"

But I knew it'd never be arranged

Then she handed me twenty dollars for a two-fifty fare

She said, "Harry, keep the change"

Well another man might have been angry

And another man might have been hurt

But another man never would have let her go

I stashed the bill in my shirt.

And she walked away in silence

It's strange how you never know

But we'd both gotten what we'd asked for

Such a long, long time ago

You see, she was gonna be an actress

And I was gonna learn to fly

She took off to find the footlights

And I took off for the sky

And here, she's acting happy

Inside her handsome home

And me, I'm flying in my taxi

Taking tips, getting stoned

I go flying so high when I'm stoned.....

Songwriter:

CHAPIN, HARRY F.

Published by
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

Harry Forster Chapin (December 7, 1942 – July 16, 1981) was an American singer-songwriter best known for his folk rock songs.  "Taxi"  and the No. 1 hit "Cat's in the Cradle." - which many people erroneously credit Cat Stephens.

Harry Chapin posthumously was awarded  the Congressional Gold Medal for his humanitarian work, for his fight to end world hunger, in 1987.  In the mid-1970s, Chapin focused on social activism, including raising money to combat hunger in the United States. His daughter Jen said: "He saw hunger and poverty as an insult to America."  Much of the money from sales of his concert merchandise were used to support an organization that he co-founded called "World Hunger Year".  Harry also released a book of poetry, Looking...Seeing, in 1977.

Chapin, w/ his daughter

After the debut of his album Heads and Tales, which included his hit song "Taxi", Harry and three band members (playing cello, bass, electric guitar) who had never met before rehearsed for one week and arranged the songs with cello parts and background vocals.

Elektra Records and Columbia Records actually battled over signing him, and Harry ended up signing w/ Elektra as this smaller company would provide the artist with "greater personal attention to his unique work."  Elektra Records had just merged with Warner Brothers and Atlantic Records to form the mammoth WEA, and Harry Chapin happened to be the first test of who now had the greater artist signing power. The band was in the right place at the right time and were able to negotiate what was said to be the largest recording contract in history for a new artist.

Chapin ultimately signed with Elektra for a smaller advance, but with provisions that were much more valuable. The biggest stipulation in the nine-album deal was that he receive free studio time, meaning he paid no recording costs. It was a move that would ultimately save Chapin hundreds of thousands of dollars over the term of his contract and set a precedent for other musicians.  "This was completely unheard of," said Davis in the Coan book. "There was no such thing as free studio time."

Chapin met Sandy Cashmore (née Gaston), a New York socialite nine years his senior, in 1966, after she called him asking for music lessons. They married two years later. The story of their meeting and romance is told in his song "I Wanna Learn a Love Song." He had two children with her, Jennifer and Joshua, and was stepfather to her three children from a previous marriage, Jaime, Jason and Jonathan. Chapin wrote several songs about her, including "Shooting Star" about their relationship, and "Sandy".

On Thursday, July 16, 1981, just after noon, Chapin was driving in the left lane on the Long Island Expressway at about 65 mph on the way to perform at a free concert scheduled for later that evening at Eisenhower Park in East Meadow, New York. Near exit 40 in Jericho he put on his emergency flashers, presumably because of either a mechanical or medical problem (possibly a heart attack). He then slowed to about 15 miles (24 km) per hour and veered into the center lane, nearly colliding with another car. He swerved left, then to the right again, ending up directly in the path of a tractor-trailer truck. The truck could not brake in time and rammed the rear of Chapin's blue 1975 Volkswagen Rabbit, rupturing the fuel tank as it climbed up and over the back of the car, causing it to burst into flames.

The driver of the truck and a passerby were able to get Chapin out of the burning car through a window after cutting the seat belts before the car was engulfed in flames. Chapin was taken by police helicopter to a hospital, where ten doctors tried for 30 minutes to revive him. A spokesman for the Nassau County Medical Center said Chapin had suffered a heart attack and died of cardiac arrest, but there was no way of knowing whether it occurred before or after the accident.

His epitaph is actually are his own words from the song, ""I Wonder What Would Happen to this World." He was 44 years old at the time of his death.  - Source:  wikipedia

Oh if a man tried
To take his time on Earth
And prove before he died
What one man's life could be worth
I wonder what would happen
to this world 

XXI.

RAINBOWS

A rainbow is a multicolored arc, which forms when light strikes water droplets. They are actually optical illusions and never exist in a specific spot in the sky, and it appearance depends upon where you are standing and from where the sun shines.

Rainbows are commonly seen in fog, sea spray, or waterfalls.

A rainbow is a multi-colored arc that forms in the sky.

Rainbows are created by both reflection and refraction (bending) of light in water droplets in the atmosphere, which results in a spectrum of light appearing.

A rainbow is in fact a full circle of light. However, due to most people viewing a rainbow on the ground we only see a semi-circle or arc of the rainbow.

A rainbow is not situated at a specified distance, instead it will always be visible to a person at the precise angle freshwater droplets reflect the light which is 42 degrees in the opposite direction of the sun.

A rainbow is not an object, it cannot be approached or physically touched.

No two people see the same rainbow, in fact even our individual eyes see slightly different rainbows. If someone appears to be standing under a rainbow you can see, they will see a different rainbow at the same angle but further away.
Rainbows can be seen not just in rain but also mist, spray, fog, and dew, whenever there are water drops in the air and light shining from behind at the right angle.

Sir Isaac Newton identified the 7 colors of the visible spectrum that together make up white light. All of which are present in a rainbow in the order red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet (the acronym or name ROY G BIV is a good way to remember these colors and their order).

Most rainbows we see will be a "primary rainbow" whereby the color red can be seen on the outer edge through to violet on the inner edge.

The sky within a primary rainbow is brighter than the sky outside of the arc. This is due to the fact that the millions of droplets needed to make a rainbow are spherical and overlap to create white light. At the edge however, these colored discs don't overlap so display their individual colors producing the rainbow arc.

A "double rainbow" is where a second, much fainter arc can be seen outside of the primary arc. This is caused by the light reflecting twice inside the water droplets. As a result of this double reflection the colors of the second arc are inverted with violet on the outer edge and red on the inner edge.

The dark, unlit sky between the primary arc and secondary arc is called Alexander's band, after Alexander of Aphrodisias who first described it in 200 AD.

Very rarely, light can be reflected 3 or 4 times within a water droplet which produces even fainter tertiary (third) and quaternary (fourth) rainbows in the direction of the sun.

A "moonbow" is a rare lunar rainbow or night time rainbow produced by light from the moon. Our eyes see it as white even though all colors are faintly present.

A "fogbow" is formed by cloud and fog droplets, they are almost white with very faint colors visible. Fogbows are quite large and much broader than a rainbow.

Source:  sciencekids.co.nz/sciencefacts/weather/rainbows