photosworthseeing:

adventuresofalgy:

As forecast, the sunshine lasted only one day and Sunday was dismally grey, with the clouds drifting low over the hills once again. But at the very last minute before dusk, the setting sun managed to break through a wee gap in the heavy bank of cloud, and illuminated some of the ridges with a faint magenta glow. Algy perched on a cold rock to watch for a moment or two, knowing that in just a few minutes more the light and the colour would be gone…

I always love to follow Algy’s adventures and right now I would like to sit next to Algy and listen his stories in this beautiful evening mood. Algy’s assistant Jenny captured this photo and mood perfectly.

PWS – Stephi

Algy was so thrilled to see this adventure appear on @photosworthseeing!

Thank you Stephi 🙂 Algy sends you lots of very fluffy hugs, and says that you are most welcome to sit next to him any time you like, and he will tell you all his very best and fluffiest stories xx

As forecast, the sunshine lasted only one day and Sunday was dismally grey, with the clouds drifting low over the hills once again. But at the very last minute before dusk, the setting sun managed to break through a wee gap in the heavy bank of cloud, and illuminated some of the ridges with a faint magenta glow. Algy perched on a cold rock to watch for a moment or two, knowing that in just a few minutes more the light and the colour would be gone…

On Friday afternoon Algy had to leave the woods for a wee while, to take some parcels to the post office to send to those kind friends who had bought things from his crowdfunding campaign page at Sponsume. Once the packages had been safely despatched, he made his way back around the mountain, pausing at one of his favourite lookout points to rest a while, although it was difficult to find a comfortable perch there. But the view more than compensated for the prickly discomfort, and in the silence of the late autumn afternoon Algy gazed in wonder at the sky and the loch, watching the beautiful show of colours as the landscape gradually turned pink and violet in the gloaming…

The year was slowly drawing to a close, and the nights were growing longer and longer. Algy perched on the hillside in the gloaming, in a spot overlooking the horseshoe bay, and gazed into the west. The last glimmers of light were always far out to sea, beyond the clouds, and beyond the islands. As he watched the colours fade out of the landscape, he thought of the opening verses of a poem:

          Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together,
          With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather,
          Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow,
          Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow.

          Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showing
          Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing;
          ‘Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming,
          Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, of the gloaming.

[Algy is quoting the first two verses of the poem November Evening by the late 19th/early 20th century Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery.]

As Algy watched the sun sink down, and waves of darkness stole quietly across the loch, he began to observe a strangely hypnotic phenomenon. Of course he was exceedingly tired after his arduous flight along the river, and the light in the gloaming is always tricky and apt to deceive. It’s only too easy to imagine that you are seeing strange things when twilight falls in the West Highlands, even if you are wide awake. Nevertheless, it seemed to Algy that all was not entirely as he might have expected it to be… He was too exhausted to remain alert, or even to stay awake for longer than a few moments at a time, but as he dozed to the rhythm of the flickering light, he wondered drowsily whether it was really entirely wise to fall asleep at this time…

Just like the famous young lady who was transported Somewhere Over The Rainbow long ago, Algy was feeling decidedly homesick, and he didn’t know how to find his way back home. What he did know, however, was that all streams must flow eventually into the sea. So he decided to follow the course of the river downstream, and – as twilight fell – Algy reached the shores of a huge sea loch. It was too late to travel any further that day, so he rested on the coarse beach, and watched the sun sinking down behind the clouds while he wondered what he ought to do next…

As the tide turned and the sun sank lower in the sky, Algy leaned back on the wet sand, surrounded by reflections of the clouds. He was thinking especially of his dear friend Monica mojo5050 – who by coincidence posted a beautiful image of reflections on a beach today – and of all his Tumblr friends who were facing difficult challenges in their lives at the moment. While the rippling, silvery waves quietly crept up the beach to dampen his toes, Algy thought of his friends, and of a poem by Sheenagh Pugh:

          Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
          from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
          faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail,
          sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

          A people sometimes will step back from war;
          elect an honest man, decide they care
          enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
          Some men become what they were born for.

          Sometimes our best efforts do not go
          amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
          The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
          that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

Algy says: may it happen for you – and more often than sometimes :-))

[Algy is quoting the poem Sometimes by the contemporary British poet Sheenagh Pugh.]

It was the blue hour. After his day out in the woods, Algy felt like some quiet contemplation, so he flew over to the shores of the great sea loch and found a perch on a lichen-covered rock overlooking the water. As he sat there silently, watching the ripples flow back and forth in shades of blue, he thought of all of you … and remembered this poem:

          Whenever I look
          out at the snowy
          mountains at this hour
          and speak directly
          into the ear of the sky,
          it’s you I’m thinking of.
          You’re like the spirits
          the children invent
          to inhabit the stuffed horse
          and the doll.
          I don’t know who hears me.
          I don’t know who speaks
          when the horse speaks.

[Algy is quoting the poem To the Reader: Twilight by the contemporary American poet Chase Twichell.]

As the sun sank down beyond the headland, beautiful coloured reflections appeared in the rock pools, rippling with the swell of the sea at the turn of the tide. Algy flew over to the rocks to get a better view, and perched there, quietly watching the water, until the light was gone.

It was nearly midwinter now, and the West Highland days were very short and heavily overcast; by early afternoon the light was already growing dim. The wind continued blowing relentlessly, and although it was not as wild as it had been, it was quite strong enough to constantly ruffle Algy’s feathers and blow sand into his eyes. He looked for a sheltered spot out of the wind, but there was none to be found. So Algy settled on a rock which was less exposed than some of the others, and sat there quietly listening to the sea ebb and flow around him as darkness fell.