It is funny, even with all the computer models in the world, satillites and other advanced technology that we have at our fingertips. I always seem to know instinctively when the weather is going to change. Maybe its the way the geese fly in a rather unsettled pattern as if disturbed by the colder weather. Perhaps it was the extreme of warm weather just one week ago, where temps soared to 23C with unbroken sunshine. Perhaps it was even the slight niggly ache I get in my wrists and ankle joints. But whatever it is I know it is coming.


And this morning it arrived, no gentle introduction, no gradual transition from summer to autumn. No acclimatisation. 6C temp is dropping, windchill already in minus numbers, dew point the same. Wind nipping from the north and as I look out of our bedrom window to the north, the skye has changed mood. The gentle colours of summer have gone and now they are replaced with steely iron greys and pale blue where the clouds have dared to break apart. The sea now has white prominant crests resting on a dark turquoisey bed.

The showers have turned wintry and while this brief Nly interlude is just what it is, a short visit. Part of me welcomes the prospect of winter and another part of me tells me it is going to be a long winter.

And as I type these words another shower makes an paradoxal unwelcome entrance. The sleety ice that lands the neck, soaks through to the skin, and chills the core of your bones. We know winters are long and hard, dark and cold, wet and above all exciting. Indeed the promise of winter has arrived.