The shadows of winter make the world one way: brittle maybe, precise. The angle of the sun makes the world of summer another way entirely: smeared across the afternoon, vibrating.
That’s why so many Romantic artists like the weather. They know that the weather does not make the world, but it does make the world ‘what it’s like’.
So, the Romantics enjoy writing about the weather, and they enjoy painting the weather. They are cloud watchers and rain walkers.
They wait for the light to be just so.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Winter Dreams:
Dexter knew that there was something dismal about this Northern spring, just as he knew there was something gorgeous about the fall. Fall made him clinch his hands and tremble and repeat idiotic sentences to himself, and make brisk abrupt gestures of command to imaginary audiences and armies. October filled him with hope which November raised to a sort of ecstatic triumph, and in this mood the fleeting brilliant impressions of the summer at Sherry Island were ready grist to his mill …