It seemed that winter had returned to the wild west Highlands of Scotland, for a nasty cold wet sleet had been falling for much of the night in Algy's assistants' garden, and the rocky ridges which encircled his home were sprinkled with a dusting of fresh snow.
Hopping up into a tree to assess the situation, Algy felt disappointed in the weather birds, for their forecast had been wrong yet again, in almost every respect… However, despite the low temperature and exceedingly damp chill in the air, the day was calm, and free from the strong, bitter wind he had been expecting, so Algy was able to comfort himself with the very British thought that "it might brighten up yet"…
As he surveyed the snowy ridges in the distance, Algy recalled an old poetic riddle:
From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin. No lady alive can show such a skin. I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather, But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear, Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare. Though so much of Heaven appears in my make, The foulest impressions I easily take. My parent and I produce one another, The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.
[Algy is thinking of the poem On Snow. A Riddle. by the 17th/18th century Irish-English writer Jonathan Swift.]
