In the wild West Highlands of Scotland, when the Scotch mist really settles in, it hangs around for days… and days… and days… And in conditions like these it can be difficult to tell where you are, or what day it is, or anything at all. But Algy didn’t mind, really. He perched on a ragged clump of soggy heather, and listened to the tiny, wet sounds of the peat bogs in the mist. He was fascinated by the way that every stem of dry grass held a few transparent beads of water; there were little droplets everywhere, as far as the eye could see. As he became gradually damper and damper, he thought of a poem he had only just discovered:
When you can see the ground’s breath,
And the sky goes muggy
And drops before the world
Like a perspiring window-glass;
When beasts and humans creep to cover
And the steam-boats speak fog-language;
The farm buildings sit still
Folding their hands
As if they hadn’t a thing in the world to do.
A chimney’s belch smudges into nothing;
The earth’s breath noses around the roots of trees;
Heaven-mist seeps through branches
And wraps the country’s heart.
Algy has been so happy to find some of his kind Tumblr friends on Facebook – a strange new territory that is still unfamiliar to him. If you are on Facebook too, please come and say hello to Algy on his Facebook page. He will try to post to Facebook regularly too, and will interact with his friends there. (Algy’s Facebook posts will not duplicate his Adventures except in special circumstances.)
[ Algy is quoting the poem In Mist by Laura Sherry, who was director of the Wisconsin Players in the 1920s. The poem was published in the magazine Poetry in September 1922. ]