The wind was howling a right Gail as Old Jock tramped down the long road to his cottage.
He was out gathering wood for his fire when he forgot about the time, and the snow started up again. It always snowed in these parts of the Highlands but as old Jock searched his memory, he could not remember when it was so cold. He shuddered and pulled the old coal sack he had used as a cape tightly over his shoulders and walked on. The tree lined road glistened with snow and it almost resembled day time because the snow was so think and laying everywhere. He reached into his Sporn and produced an old battered hip flask and pulled out the cork and put it up to his mouth and took a swig nothing. He remembered he drank the last of the water for his lunch and forgot to fill it at the burn. Still there is a nice bottle of whisky waiting for him back at his croft and he squinted his eyes to see if he could see any land marks. Old Jock had walked these woods outside glenfidoch for over 50 years man and boy and knew them like the back of his hand but lately these past couple of years his memory was not so good. One day when he went into the village to ask for some work. Stan at the post office suggested he should go