It was a grey, damp morning, but Algy was fascinated by the way the mists were swirling up the hillsides from the burns below. He perched on an old fence post, watching the watery wisps rising like smoke, and thinking of his old friend who was making such an effort to recover from his operation and get fit and strong again. Algy was reminded of a haiku by the 18th century master Kobayashi Issa:
          Little snail          inch by inch, climb          Mount Fuji!
(katatsuburi soro-soro nobore fuji no yama)

It was a grey, damp morning, but Algy was fascinated by the way the mists were swirling up the hillsides from the burns below. He perched on an old fence post, watching the watery wisps rising like smoke, and thinking of his old friend who was making such an effort to recover from his operation and get fit and strong again. Algy was reminded of a haiku by the 18th century master Kobayashi Issa:

          Little snail
          inch by inch, climb
          Mount Fuji!

(katatsuburi soro-soro nobore fuji no yama)