The wind was rapidly growing stronger and a severe gale was forecast for later in the day, so Algy decided to catch up with his reading while he could. He found himself a cosy, sheltered spot on a bank of late-flowering heather, and tried to tuck his head into his book, although the wind had other ideas…

Sitting there in the heather with the wind in his feathers and a gale blowing up, Algy was inevitably reminded of a poem by Emily Brontë:

          High waving heather, ‘neath stormy blasts bending,
          Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars;
          Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,
          Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending,
          Man’s spirit away from its drear dongeon sending,
          Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.

          All down the mountain sides, wild forest lending
          One mighty voice to the life-giving wind;
          Rivers their banks in the jubilee rending,
          Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,
          Wider and deeper their waters extending,
          Leaving a desolate desert behind.

          Shining and lowering and swelling and dying,
          Changing for ever from midnight to noon;
          Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing,
          Shadows on shadows advancing and flying,
          Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying,
          Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.

[Algy is quoting the poem High Waving Heather by the 19th century English writer Emily Brontë.]

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