The humidity of the atmosphere is relatively high as it lingers below the dark skies and the twinkling shimmering light of the stars forms into roundness of visible source of light. Though the darkness mourns the melancholic spirit of indescribable sadness, the soft rain sets in to compensate it with the spirit of peace for the lonely night at hand. Kinney suddenly realizes how much joy and pleasure of sleep he can attain when his head presses against his pillow to conclude the long day into a goodnight’s rest. He can sleep soundly like a little child in his cottage bedroom and listen to the patter of the soft summer showers overhead on the roof.
Every tinkle of raindrops that fall on the thin oblong piece of material, such as wood or slate that is laid in overlapping rows to cover the roofs or sides of the cottage produces an echo in Kinney’s heart and starts a thousand fancies in his thoughts. They spin the yarns of bright fanciful colours into his mind and he listens to the patter of the rain on the roof. In his continual imagination comes his mother to his vivid thoughts and just like in the early years when she observes all her off-springs in their sleep. Before she leaves them before the break of dawn, he can see her bending over him, as he listens to this refraining melody which is played by the patter of rain upon the shingles of the roof.
The next phase of his imagination is when his angelic seraph sister, with her wings and waving hair, appear before his thoughts along with her bright-eyed angelic cherub brother. The two are a peaceful angelic pair flying around his pillow above his sleepy head. With their songs of praise and mild scolding, he listened to the murmur of the rain on the roof. The last character to thrill Kinney’s imagination is a beautiful young girl with eyes of blue. He continued to gaze upon her beauty though he was doubtful of her heart. Never-the-less he would keep an open mind to love her with a delightful kin to pain. The intensity of his heart beat equates the rate of patter of the rain.
There is nothingness in Art’s brilliant and showy musical skills that can work with such a magical charm. The charm that influences one’s spirit of purity and the deep fountains of true love from where the holy passion is aroused. The melody of nature that subdues its strain which is played upon the shingles by the patter of rain.