This is the time of year when Algy is able to watch beautiful Hebridean sunsets over the sea and islands from his own tree, and he recites to himself:

          This is the land the sunset washes,
          These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
          Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
          These are the western mystery!

          Night after night her purple traffic
          Strews the landing with opal bales;
          Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
          Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.

[Algy is reciting Emily Dickinson’s poem This is the land the sunset washes.]

As Algy sat on a low, broken branch by the side of the loch in the still of the evening, he thought of the popular poem by the Welsh poet W. H. Davies. Of course Algy prefers to perch on boughs rather than stand beneath them, but he certainly shares the poem’s general sentiment:

          What is this life if, full of care,
          We have no time to stand and stare.

          No time to stand beneath the boughs
          And stare as long as sheep or cows.

          No time to see, when woods we pass,
          Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

          No time to see, in broad daylight,
          Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

[Algy is quoting part of the poem Leisure by William Henry Davies.]