The wind was roaring again. Not whispering, not murmuring, not whistling or rustling or whooshing, but positively roaring, and Algy could barely hear himself think. But when he did manage to think for a moment or two, he thought that it would really be rather nice if once in a while the wind could calm down a wee bit, and perhaps not rage absolutely all day every day…
However, the wind was evidently not persuaded of this idea on this particular morning, and it simply continued to roar – rain or shine… and sometimes it did rain, and sometimes, for a short while, the sun did shine, and yet still the wind roared on…
And so Algy sought one of the most sheltered spots he could find in his assistants' garden, where a young forsythia bush was hanging on to some late flowers despite the unfavourable conditions, for it grew in the lee of the big brash wall (or dead hedge), and was also sheltered by a strong clump of cypress bushes, where the wind was certainly still heard, but much less often seen…
Algy loved all golden yellow flowers, of course, because they matched his very own hair feathers, so he always felt happy when he perched in a blooming forsythia in the spring, for even in the darkest corners the glowing colours lit up the day and made him smile. And so for a moment he forgot the din of the wind… but not for very long!
