#changeable weather

[adventuresofalgy]

The weather in the wild west Highlands of Scotland had reverted to its normal pattern of cold April showers, typical of the early spring, and although the temperature was low, the air was pleasantly fresh and fragrant with the scent of spring flowers and blossom, and at times the sun burst through to illuminate all the emerging young leaves so that they glowed with bright, new green.

Algy was reluctant to miss these delights, but on the other hand the sudden showers of rain were positively torrential at times, and he much preferred his feathers to be fluffy rather than drenched, bedraggled and soggy.

So he decided to experiment with his birthday umbrella, setting it up in a spiraea bush beneath the great white cherry trees, which were still covered in blossom and bees, despite the wind and the rain. And as Algy listened once more to the buzzing and humming, and the twittering and singing of the smaller birds in the bushes and trees around him, he heard another, quieter and more subtle sound, as the wind rustled the leaves and blossom of the cherry trees:

Love and harmony combine, And around our souls entwine, While thy branches mix with mine, And our roots together join. Joys upon our branches sit, Chirping loud and singing sweet; Like gentle streams beneath our feet Innocence and virtue meet. Thou the golden fruit dost bear, I am clad in flowers fair; Thy sweet boughs perfume the air, And the turtle buildeth there. There she sits and feeds her young, Sweet I hear her mournful song; And thy lovely leaves among, There is love, I hear his tongue. There his charming nest doth lay, There he sleeps the night away; There he sports along the day, And doth among our branches play.

[The cherry trees are whispering the poem Song by the late18th/early 19th English poet William Blake.]

[zero2zedgaming]

The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt - Game World Ambience - The Western Gate Across ...

Immerse yourself in the peaceful ambiance of Oxenfurt, with a view of the Western Gate from across the harbour. The gentle lapping of water and the soft breeze that sweeps across the harbour, and the fast changing weather of the Velen region from calm to rain and thunderstorms erupting over the city 🌅⚔️🌊🌫️

Let this serene setting transport you into the world of Geralt of Rivia, as the tranquil waters and harbour sounds invite relaxation. Perfect for study, meditation, or quiet escape, this iconic location's atmosphere offers a gentle respite and deep immersion into the realm of The Witcher.

For other game world ambience videos check out this playlist https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CFo5LyAEvdIcP4syymQaI50

[suburbanscrimshaw]

[on-misty-mountains]

Our visit to Dublin Castle really showcased the nature of the changeable weather that day. We booked a tour and it was fascinating, would recommend. 

[adventuresofalgy]

The weather had changed, just as the forecast had predicted, and although the air rushing in from the south-east was milder, it was arriving on a very brisk wind… And by nightfall it would be raining again, or so the weather birds were saying, but for the moment at least it remained dry, and there was even some hazy sunshine at times, although at other times the sky turned entirely grey.

Algy perched among the still-bare brances of a dense clump of hazel bushes near the burn, and looked around. Although the landscape still appeared entirely drab from a distance – except where there were dazzling stands of gorse – closer inspection revealed bright new things beginning to grow, and in places there was even some fresh green on the ground, although it was not yet the green of grass.

As he rested among the hazel twigs Algy reflected:

Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plowed hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too. Opens a door in Heaven; From skies of glass A Jacob's ladder falls On greening grass, And o'er the mountain-walls Young angels pass. Before them fleets the shower, And burst the buds, And shine the level lands, And flash the floods; The stars are from their hands Flung through the woods, The woods with living airs How softly fanned, Light airs from where the deep, All down the sand, Is breathing in his sleep, Heard by the land. O, follow, leaping blood, The season's lure! O heart, look down and up, Serene, secure, Warm as the crocus cup, Like snow-drops, pure! Past, Future glimpse and fade Through some slight spell, A gleam from yonder vale, Some far blue fell; And sympathies, how frail, In sound and smell! Till at thy chuckled note, Thou twinkling bird, The fairy fancies range, And, lightly stirred, Ring little bells of change From word to word. For now the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And thaws the cold, and fills The flower with dew; The blackbirds have their wills, The poets too.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Early Spring by the 19th century English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy flew over to another hazel bush, which was thriving on the banks of the burn, and as he settled himself among the dense mass of twigs, the sun suddenly came out again and lit up the yellow catkins that were dangling all around him.

Recalling the old Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme for children, Algy began to sing it to a tune of his devising, reflecting as he sang that the catkins did indeed look like the tails of wee lambs. And he was happy to think that, with luck, there should be a plentiful supply of hazelnuts at the end of the summer for his feathered and furry friends that lived in the wilderness of the wild west Highlands of Scotland.

Like little tails of little lambs, On leafless twigs my catkins swing; They dingle-dangle merrily Before the wakening of Spring. Beside the pollen-laden tails My tiny crimson tufts you see The promise of the autumn nuts Upon the slender hazel tree. While yet the woods lie grey and still I give my tidings: “Spring is near!” One day the land shall leap to life With fairies calling: “Spring is HERE!”

[Algy is quoting the Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme from the ever popular Flower Fairies books for children by the English 20th century illustrator Cicely Mary Barker.]

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy had hoped that the wind might die down, at least a bit, but the wind had other ideas… and do did the rain, for although there were occasional bright intervals they were all promptly terminated by sudden torrential downpours.

Algy decided that there was nothing for it but to seek shelter, and there attempt to amuse himself as best he could, until conditions improved. His favourite refuge in his assistants' garden was beneath a small stand of waving bamboo, which grew close to an old wall. The two combined, being on the side of the prevailing wind, provided admirable protection from the weather, and comfort was ensured by a thick carpet of fallen bamboo leaves, which tended to remain dry under the dense canopy.

Settling himself down, Algy reflected that he could perhaps depend on his own fluffy mind to entertain him while he waited for the weather to improve, and so he began to recite:

My mind to me a kingdom is; Such present joys therein I find, That it excels all other bliss That earth affords or grows by kind: Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No force to win the victory, No wily wit to salve a sore, No shape to feed a loving eye; To none of these I yield as thrall; For why? my mind doth serve for all. I see how plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soon do fall; I see that those which are aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all: They get with toil, they keep with fear: Such cares my mind could never bear. Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. Some have too much, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store; They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another’s loss, I grudge not at another’s gain; No worldly waves my mind can toss; My state at one doth still remain: I fear no foe, I fawn no friend; I loathe not life, nor dread my end. Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Their wisdom by their rage of will; Their treasure is their only trust, A cloakèd craft their store of skill; But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind. My wealth is health and perfect ease, My conscience clear my chief defence; I neither seek by bribes to please, Nor by deceit to breed offence: Thus do I live; thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!

[Algy is reciting the poem My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is, written in England in the 16th century. But the authorship of the poem is disputed. Edward Dyer was considered the author until the late 20th century, but some now think that it was written by Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford.]

[adventuresofalgy]

The following day was very much brighter, with some strong February sunshine, but also a stiff breeze. In fact the whole world seemed to be in motion, although this may have had something to do with the absence of a tripod 😀

And as Algy fluttered around the garden, he was surprised to see the very first daffodil flowers of the coming spring, for these were not the early, miniature daffodils which quite often flowered at the beginning of February, but full-sized varieties which did not normally appear until many weeks later in the year.

Perching happily on the grass to watch the beautiful nodding heads glowing in the sunshine, he was reminded of a poem written "to an early daffodil", for these were indeed certainly exceptionally early, but instead of spring being laggard, and the flowers catching the gold of an April sun, they were playing in the chilly wind of a bright early February day…

Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring! Thou herald of rich Summer’s myriad flowers! The climbing sun with new recovered powers Does warm thee into being, through the ring Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing To fill the lonely with a joy untold; Nodding at every gust of wind to-day, To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold To stand erect, full in the dazzling play Of April's sun, for thou hast caught his gold.

[Algy is quoting the poem To an Early Daffodil by the late 19th/early 20th century American poet Amy Lowell.]