Thoroughly exhausted after the excitement and effort of his recent adventures, Algy felt in need of a good long rest. So he tucked himself tightly into a sturdy tussock of Marram grass on the dunes for the night, and slept there peacefully until late the next day. It was past noon by the time he looked out at the sea again, and discovered that it had grown a lot calmer, although of course the perpetual wind was still blowing, blowing, blowing … But the waves were rippling quietly now, and the colours of the shallow water over the sand looked beautiful even on a heavily overcast day. The scene reminded him of a poem by May Swenson:

                                         Meekly the sea
                                     now plods to shore:
                       white-faced cattle used to their yard,
                             the waves, with weary knees,
                           come back from bouldered hills
                                         of high water,

         where all the gray, rough day they seethed like bulls,
                        till the wind laid down its goads
                          at shift of tide, and sundown
                      gentled them; with lowered necks
                              they amble up the beach
                                     as to their stalls.

[Algy is quoting the poem The Even Sea by the 20th century American poet May Swenson.]

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