Unlike singers of the St. Louis Blues, Algy just loves to see the evening sun go down :)  On fine evenings around midsummer Algy spends hours in his tree, just watching as the sun sinks below the horizon and the sky and sea begin to glow.

Suddenly, there was a burst of vibrant colour in his friends’ West HIghland garden. Algy was intrigued by a large clump containing many tall spikes of red flowers. He climbed gently into the middle of the flowers and sniffed to see whether they had any perfume. A-tishoo! … A-tishoo! … Oh! The flowers smelled just like pepper!

At this time of year the West Highland crofts are full of buttercups. Algy loves sunny yellow buttercups, and he especially likes holding them under his chin to see whether he likes butter… If you don’t know the children’s buttercup game, Algy suggests that you look it up :)

[These buttercups are particularly for Algy’s friend Bill in Denver.]

As Algy flew past the horseshoe bay on his way home from the woods, he was intrigued by the unusual patterns that extended all across the water. He paused to rest on one of the rocks that is only exposed at low tide, hoping to understand the phenomenon if he studied it more closely, but he couldn’t figure out the cause.

Algy wonders whether any of his Tumblr friends know what would cause such a pattern on a narrow stretch of sea between mainland and island in calm weather. It doesn’t usually look like this – not even on fine days!

[Special note for those concerned about Algy’s whereabouts: Algy says please click on the image and then click again to blow it up to maximum size. You should then be able to find him :) ]

Many of the trees were twisted and gnarled, and much battered by the ravages of the winter storms, but in the early summer calm they were all at peace, and so was Algy. He sat quietly on his rock in the filtered sunshine and listened to all the tiny, gentle sounds of the forest and its creatures.

Algy would like to dedicate this post to all those who suffer from periods of darkness, from whatever cause. He hopes you will find the sunshine filtering through the canopy and lighting up your lives, as it lights up the forest floor :)

As the sun grew stronger, Algy retreated into the old oak woods by the banks of the quieter loch. Everything was fresh and green and beautiful there in the dappled sunlight. It was very quiet apart from the songs of the other birds, as there are no paths through these woods to bring noisy visitors to disturb the peace. Algy sat on a rock and studied the mosses and ferns, thinking of a verse by Lord Byron:

          There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
          There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
          There is society, where none intrudes,
          By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
          I love not man the less, but Nature more,
          From these our interviews, in which I steal
          From all I may be, or have been before,
          To mingle with the Universe, and feel
          What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

[Algy is quoting verse CLXXVIII from Lord Byron’s extremely long narrative poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.]

It was also lilac time in his friends’ garden, and Algy loves lilacs perhaps best of all the flowering shrubs. So he settled himself among the lovely pannicles of flowers and dozed off contentedly in the bright sunshine, drinking in the heady lilac scent. Some lines from T. S. Eliot’s poem Portrait of a Lady drifted through his mind:

          Now that lilacs are in bloom
          She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
          And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
          “Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
          What life is, you who hold it in your hands”;
          (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
         “You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
          And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
          And smiles at situations which it cannot see.”
          I smile, of course,
          And go on drinking tea.
          “Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
          My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
          I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
          To be wonderful and youthful, after all.”

[Algy is thinking of the first stanza in part II of Portrait of a Lady by T. S. Eliot.]

It was apple blossom time and Algy was in high spirits. The blossom was so beautiful, and all around him there were bees buzzing from flower to flower, helping to make plenty of apples for him to eat in the autumn. No wonder he was happy! So he sang them an old popular song, which first made the “hit parade” nearly 100 years ago: I’ll be with you in apple blossom time …

[This song has been recorded many times over the years, but was especially popular in the mid-20th century. If you don’t know the song, try listening to one of these recordings: Jo Stafford with Nat King Cole on piano in 1946, Elliot Lawrence and his Orchestra also in 1946, or from 1941, The Andrews Sisters, who recorded the song several times. And here is one of the very earliest recordings, by Charles Harrison in 1920.]

This is the time of year when Algy is able to watch beautiful Hebridean sunsets over the sea and islands from his own tree, and he recites to himself:

          This is the land the sunset washes,
          These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
          Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
          These are the western mystery!

          Night after night her purple traffic
          Strews the landing with opal bales;
          Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
          Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.

[Algy is reciting Emily Dickinson’s poem This is the land the sunset washes.]

It was azalea time in Algy’s friends’ West Highland garden, and Algy was utterly entranced. Not only were the flowers beautiful to look at, but their perfume in the early evening was just heavenly. He could hardly bear to tear himself away to look at the other flowers in the garden …

Sunny afternoons in late spring are among the very best times of the whole West Highland year, and Algy didn’t want to miss a single moment of them. He knew that they would soon be gone, at least until next year. So he went out to explore the oak woods in their beautiful new spring green. A tall old tree offered a handy perch, and Algy decided to practise sitting like an owl, in case he should happen to meet one. Down below him the loch lay calm and blue, while above the trees there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. It was indeed a fine afternoon.

In the late spring the West Highland evenings are long and light, and on fine nights the northern sky glows with rich colours when the sun sinks into the sea. So at this time of year Algy often sits up very late in his tree, watching the sun go down, and listening to the other night birds and the murmur of the sea in the distance.

Algy had forgotten quite how windy it was in his own wee corner of the West Highlands, but at least it saved the expense of going to a fun fair… He enjoyed riding among the dangling catkins on such a sunny afternoon, but he found that he got sprayed with pollen as the branches shook, which made him sneeze.

When Algy woke up from his long sleep, he went immediately to inspect his own special patch of bluebells. Although he had seen many beautiful expanses of bluebells recently, he felt that his own were the loveliest of all.

Algy would like to dedicate his bluebells to all those kind friends and followers who have been watching his Adventures “out and about” over the past week, and leaving notes in his absence. He thanks you all very much, and alos sends a special fluffy wave to his new followers :)

Algy was so exhausted by the time he reached home that he couldn’t even find the energy to fly up into his tree. So he just curled up on the lush grass among the cuckoo flowers, tucked his head under his wing, and went straight to sleep.

The next morning the sun climbed steadily higher in the sky, and butterflies flitted busily to and fro around him, but Algy still slept on, dreaming happily of his adventures near and far.