Algy Keeps Watch while Part of the Sky Burns


The hill was on fire again, for the third time this Spring, but this time it was burning ferociously. Algy kept watch through the night, while the firefighters beat their way stoically across the other side of the steep ridge.

          The fire was so fierce,
          So red, so gray, so yellow
          That, along with the land,
          It burned part of the sky
          Which stayed black in that corner
          For years

[From A Small Story about the Sky by Alberto Ríos.]

Algy Enjoys the Loveliest of Trees


The cold North wind brought clearer skies, so Algy was able to enjoy some cool afternoon sunshine, watching the cherry blossoms dancing against the blue.

          Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
          Is hung with bloom along the bough,
          And stands about the woodland ride
          Wearing white for Eastertide.

[From Loveliest of Trees in A.E. Housman’s cycle of poems A Shropshire Lad, published in 1896.]

Algy Flies into the Western Waves of Ebbing Day

Suddenly, after a long, grey day of dense Scotch mist:

           The western waves of ebbing day
           Rolled o’er the glen their level way;
           Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
           Was bathed in floods of living fire.

[From the First Canto (XI) of The Lady of the Lake by Sir Walter Scott. An 1883 edition of the entire narrative poem is available at Project Gutenberg.]

Algy in Pensive Mood


Sitting in pensive mood among the dancing daffodils, Algy was inevitably reminded of Wordsworth’s famous poem:

           The waves beside them danced; but they
           Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
           A poet could not but be gay,
           In such a jocund company:
           I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
           What wealth the show to me had brought:

           For oft, when on my couch I lie
           In vacant or in pensive mood,
           They flash upon that inward eye
           Which is the bliss of solitude;
           And then my heart with pleasure fills,
           And dances with the daffodils.

[From I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth.]