The Rainbow

If things were worse, this cursed rain would soak me unto sickness, so Samuel Sewall might have written in his vespers journal. I have it on my writing desk inside. For three days I have labored with a saw and plane and many boards to make my girl a swingset near her mother’s lilac shrubs, as rain has drizzled cold and meaningless. How coherent was his world of works and days, when Plentifull Rains might connote a coming providence—so Sewall notes of Her Majesty’s Court, June the eighteenth, seventeen twelve. We are well satisfyed with the Layin out of our Money—