Algy was feeling very damp but happy, sitting in his tree surrounded by the constant drip, drip, dripping of the Scotch mist. The robin singing in the rain above his head seemed happy too. But Algy knew that some of his friends were not feeling so cheerful at all. Some were struggling to cope with sadness or difficult challenges in their lives. So he blew kisses to all of his friends, young and old, near and far, happy and sad, and hoped that they would smile despite their problems.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
[From the poem Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti.]
Algy was feeling rather glum. His oldest friends had suffered a sad loss, and they had gone away for a while. The wind felt melancholy too, and blew the mist back in from the sea.
He was reminded of the poem Lassitude by Mathilde Blind, although his own sea was greenish-grey…
A fisher-boy, in level line,
Cast stone by stone into the brine:
Methought I too might do as he,
And cast my sorrows on the sea.
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine …
With the sea lost again in the dense Scotch mist, Algy spent a gloomy day in the larch tree, practising his recitation of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that cautionary tale which every young albatross is required to learn by heart.