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adventuresofalgy · 2 days ago

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When Storm Éowyn started to batter the area around Algy's home, Algy retreated deep into the pitch dark depths of his ad hoc ivy refuge, and stayed there, tucked in tightly on a cosy bed of dry leaves, while the wind whooshed and whirled overhead, whooping and hollering as it swept over the ridges around his home and through the tall trees. The weather birds were calling it a "once in a generation" event, which Algy considered rather rash, but the storm was evidently rejoicing in the opportunity to celebrate its fame as boisterously as it could.

However, Algy was used to such tumult, for gales were common on the wild west coast of the Scottish Highlands, so before long he simply fell fast asleep, as only a fluffy bird can, and slept more or less without interruption until Saturday morning.

And when Algy finally woke up, the wind had died down, and the roaring had stopped, although it felt considerably colder than it had been the day before. Emerging cautiously from his hiding place, Algy looked around, and was astonished to see that there was apparently no evidence whatever of a great storm having passed through, despite the noise it had made.

One of the local weather birds happened to pass overhead as Algy peeped out from among the ivy, so he called out to it to ask for news, and learned that the area around his home had been exceedingly lucky on this occasion, for it was only a few miles away from the edge of a very large area of chaos and damage which the main body of the storm (if storm's can be said to have bodies) had caused further south.

Rejoicing in such good fortune, Algy hurried over to inspect his precious snowdrops, for he had been concerned that the "weather bomb" would obliterate them, but he was delighted to see that quite the opposite was true, for they were not only unscathed but positively flourishing, although they were surrounded by a scattering of melting hailstones.

Resting happily among his treasured flowers, Algy told them how happy he was that the wind had not damaged them, and then started to sing to them softly:

No one can tell me, Nobody knows, Where the wind comes from, Where the wind goes. It's flying from somewhere As fast as it can, I couldn't keep up with it, Not if I ran. But if I stopped holding The string of my kite, It would blow with the wind For a day and a night. And then when I found it, Wherever it blew, I should know that the wind Had been going there too. So then I could tell them Where the wind goes… But where the wind comes from Nobody knows.

[Algy is singing, to a special tune of his own, the poem Wind on the Hill from the volume of verses for children Now We Are Six by the famous early 20th century English writer who created Winnie the Pooh, A. A. Milne.]