Saw a "drive along video" dated Feb.3, produced by a Brit in England, and the idea was to show the world what the worst.. indeed heaviest snow fall in 18 years looked like as he toured the country in his wee car. There was no snow whatsoever on the travelled streets. Untraveled roads had a four inch accumulation. There was a dusting on hedges and more on lawns, and it looked like a spring day here, as the chap drove around giving his eye-view account of this two decade miracle event. It rather looked like a great day to be out hunting phesants, a touch of snow making them flighty. Thus, I wondered if up in Orkney the snow had finally arrived. That rolling gentle countryside looks so lovely with a nice white blanket, and the hints of green on the hillsides, and the dead grasses probing through the white wool, along the sides of the roads and laneways. Tis beautiful here today...cold...perfectly clear, and a huge accumulation of snow abounds. Alas: But... in Orkney, seems to be said, from what I have read, snow is to be somewhat of a feat, on days where it tastes amazingly sweet to simply place your tired chilling feet, up close and personal directly confronting the burning blue flamed peat and to listen... to hear that irregular beat... such a treat...that winter wind, the thorny one you can't rescind, it's hollow drum voices creaking in the timber slate clad roof, providing sober proof, that old man winter has just dropped by, and through hoary frosted window panes, bully wee shetland horses with woolly manes, seek shelter behind an ancient byre and your old viking orkney heart, buried safe beneath the oldest warmet sweater, piled deep, with fleece from hardy Orkney sheep, all give testimony through gleeming liquid eyes, a testimony to the winter skies, where not so often when they so unavoidably and fiercely blow, there far below.... spread 'round Finstown, that pure white snow. To this today, I salute winter Orkney, at the appointed evening hour, overlooking last night's revisiting moon, and our frozen hills, and wrapped in my 35 year old down trusty sleeping sac, sitting on a friendly old and known chair, I will crack open that Christmas gifted bottle of Highland Park 15, and stick my nose into the glass, then into my Orcadiana (Gregor Lamb) , and I will simultaneously inbibe therefrom my culture...the spirit in the glass, in the words...that which I discovered thank God at long last last... my Norwegian Viking Orkney Past. Yours Aye... Steve in Canada