It was a dark grey January day, and Algy was feeling cold…
Not the deep, intense, frigid cold experienced by his friends in faraway continental climates, where winter was bitter and blue, and summer was golden and hot, but the persistent, ever present, you-never-will-feel-warm, dismal, grey cold of the wild west Highlands of Scotland, where the penetrating wind very rarely stopped blowing regardless of the season, and the cool, damp, oceanic environment kept temperatures permanently depressed all year round…
And on this particular day there wasn't even any sunshine, which might at least have provided some illusion of warmth, if only as a fleeting fantasy…
Seeking protection from the relentless wind, Algy tucked himself right down into the hollow which the big fir tree had torn out of the ground while falling in a vicious autumn storm… and he was happy to discover that the remains of the roots and plate of the tree provided quite a generous shelter for a modestly-sized fluffy bird.
Settling himself more comfortably, Algy slowly started to relax, and as he leaned back against the broken roots he suddenly heard a beautiful voice overhead: one of the local robins was singing in the dead branches of the fallen tree, warbling merrily about the spring that was to come, apparently without a single thought for the chill dreariness of the grey January day.
Algy listened for a while, and smiled, for the lovely song had driven the cold right out of his mind, if not entirely out of his feathers…
