In the deep, dismal depths of the Scottish Highland winter, Algy perched in a wee bush which still held a few decorative leaves and looked out into the darkness. Daylight was severely rationed now: the nights lasted well into the mornings, and started again in the mid-afternoons. But Algy knew that the year would soon be turning, and in the meantime he was growing accustomed to the darkness. He was reminded of a poem by Emily Dickinson, which he shares – with lots of fluffy hugs – with all his friends in the northerly latitudes of the world:
We grow accustomed to the Dark –
When Light is put away –
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Good bye –A Moment – We Uncertain step
For newness of the night –
Then – fit our Vision to the Dark –
And meet the Road – erect –And so of larger – Darknesses –
Those Evenings of the Brain –
When not a Moon disclose a sign –
Or Star – come out – within –The Bravest – grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see –Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.
[Algy is quoting the poem We grow accustomed to the Dark by the 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson.]
The Adventures of Algy 