#gorse

[edinburgh-by-the-sea]

roots of the hills, depth of the lake

[hiadammarshall]

Gorse Wildfire

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[velo-cats]

Gorsestar

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy had never seen a bicycle before, so he was naturally intrigued when his assistant obtained one and started cycling around the local landscape.

A fluffy bird, of course, does not need a machine to get from one place to another, so when his assistant next set out on her bike, Algy flew along above her, to keep an eye, and to try to observe how the strange contraption worked.

Algy had had no intention of being involved with any kind of machine, but when his assistant paused at a passing place on the road, in order to take some photos, he found that in fact he was consumed with a longing to try it for himself, and so he asked whether he could please try riding the bicycle, believing, like Mulga Bill, that he would "ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight". Posing proudly for the obligatory "first time on a bicycle" photograph, Algy then commenced to set off along the road…

But, just like Mulga Bill, he found that when:

He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

However, Mulga Bill was of course not a fluffy bird, and there Algy had the advantage, because when the bike ran away with him he simply leaped into the air and flew back to his assistant to apologise.

Retrieving the bike from the bushes, she recited the whole poem for Algy's benefit, and advised him to stick to flying in the future 😀

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?" "See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea, From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight. There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight." 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek. It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek. 'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet, But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; It's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

[Algy's assistant is reciting the poem Mulga Bill's Bicycle by the late 19th/early 20th century Australian bush poet Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson.]

If you would like to see more photos (without Algy) from Algy's assistant's cycling adventures, please visit her sideblog @photocyclelog

[perfectlyscentedturtle-7]

♥︎ Countryside ♥︎

[rowan--photography]

gorse flowering in the mist

December 2022

[hikinguk]

Common Gorse bloom on the Orme 🌼 Gorse is a very hardy evergreen shrub that thrives in late winter and spring. It’s very vivid in colour and very spiky.

The Orme, Llandudno

[photocyclelog]

Peekaboo coo…

Having found little to eat by the sea shore – and having failed to obtain a suitable takeaway meal – the coos returned to the township, in order to browse on the residents' garden hedges, and to shelter from the bad weather.

[skyscratch-wcdesigns]

Gorse Fur/Gorsestar - Leader of WindClan

"Willow has done nothing wrong. We must trust her. Without trust, there is no group." - Gorse Fur, Path of Stars

[diaswarriorcats]

[edinburgh-by-the-sea]

early summer gorse

[hiadammarshall]

Night Watch

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[fungitopia]

Yellow Brain, Tremella mesenterica on some Gorse on Dartmoor.

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy and Little You-I perched side by side in the tangled bushes beside the burn from which Algy had rescued the baby dragon, and chatted together in the bright sunshine.

Algy asked Little You-I how it had happened to be in this spot, and where it had come from, but the funny little creature only repeated the beginning of the poem it had recited before:

o by the by has anybody seen little you-i who stood on a green hill and threw his wish at blue

From which Algy inferred that perhaps this was not the first time that the colourful infant had strayed from home. But the wee dragon was evidently quite happy, apart from complaining that the foot which it had caught among the boulders in the burn was sore, and it showed no signs of concern that it might be lost, although it did seem a wee bit confused.

If his new friend had been older, Algy would not have been concerned either, but it was apparent that this young creature, just like so many fledgling birds at this time of year, only had very small wings which were not yet strong enough to fly very far, and did not seem to know where its nest was.

It was quite a responsibility for a fluffy bird, and Algy was unsure what to do. For the moment, however, it was pleasant just relaxing beside the burn, and so he started to make idle conversation in order to give himself time to think, observing that there were beautiful fresh green and red buds bursting open on the scrubby bushes all around them.

To Algy's astonishment – for he could not imagine how such a young creature could have obtained such an education – Little You-I then recited another poem by e e cummings in its squeaky little voice:

Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere) arranging a window, into which people look (while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here) and changing everything carefully spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things, while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there) and without breaking anything.

[The baby dragon is reciting the poem Spring is like a perhaps hand and the opening of o by the by, written by the 20th century American poet e e cummings.]

[perfectlyscentedturtle-7]

Sheep and caves🤍💚

[rowan--photography]

complex convolutions

pinhole camera

March 2025