Although the morning was bright and sunny, the sky had clouded over entirely by the time Algy flew out upon the rocks, and the sea had grown moody and sullen. But it was fun to watch the incoming tide, even in dull weather, and Algy spent a happy hour or so watching the waves. As the spray flew up and the water surged through all the wee gullies between the rocks, Algy thought of one of his favourite sea poems:

          The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
          And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
          I heard the first wave of the rising tide
          Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
          A voice out of the silence of the deep,
          A sound mysteriously multiplied
          As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
          Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
          So comes to us at times, from the unknown
          And inaccessible solitudes of being,
          The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
          And inspirations, that we deem our own,
          Are some divine of foreshadowing and foreseeing
          Of things beyond our reason or control.

Watch a short video clip of this incoming tide on the rocks…

[Algy is quoting the poem The Sound of the Sea by the 19th century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.]

Algy found himself a rock that was not too prickly with barnacles, and buried his beak in his wee volume of “Poems of the Sea”. He was thinking of his special friend Stephanie, who was about to end her visit to Skye and the West Highlands and return to her home in Canada. For her sake he read out one of his favourite sea poems to an audience of shellfish and anemones in the rock pool in front of him. He hoped that Stephanie would hear his voice as she flew overhead, way back across the mighty ocean behind him. “Bon voyage et à bientôt!” he cried.

         The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, 
            And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
            I heard the first wave of the rising tide
            Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
         A voice out of the silence of the deep,
            A sound mysteriously multiplied
            As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
            Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
         So comes to us at times, from the unknown
            And inaccessible solitudes of being,
            The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
         And inspirations, that we deem our own,
            Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
            Of things beyond our reason or control.

Algy is reading The Sound of the Sea by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.