Algy looked all around at the place where the wind had dropped him, and was perplexed. The problem with a loch is that one is inclined to look very much like another, and there are plenty of them! Algy was only sure of two things: that he was not sitting beside his own quiet loch, and that he was still on the west coast of Scotland, because there was nowhere else in the whole wide world quite like it:

          It requires great love of it deeply to read
          The configuration of a land,
          Gradually grow conscious of fine shadings,
          Of great meanings in slight symbols,
          Hear at last the great voice that speaks softly,
          See the swell and fall upon the flank
          Of a statue carved out in a whole country’s marble,
          Be like Spring, like a hand in a window
          Moving New and Old things carefully to and fro,
          Moving a fraction of flower here,
          Placing an inch of air there,
          And without breaking anything.
          So I have gathered unto myself
          All the loose ends of Scotland,
          And by naming them and accepting them,
          Loving them and identifying myself with them,
          Attempt to express the whole.

[Algy is quoting the poem Scotland by the 20th century Scottish poet Hugh MacDiarmid.]

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