The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



frosts the bracken loses its green hue and droops listlessly 

 to the ground. The birds have almost all gone, but the 

 cheery stonechats will remain through the winter and the 

 white owls will still pass in their hunting during a day of 

 gloom, or, in fine weather, after sunset. 



The river is often in spate these days and the gales are 

 strong and frequent. Then, one morning, the hill-tops and 

 high-lying corries bear their first covering of snow, and 

 one realises that winter is at hand. 



In the birch wood, where the trees now stand clad in 

 gold, the big stags roar continually, for the storms have 

 driven them down from the hills, and tribes of redwing and 

 fieldfares cluster on the rowan berries. 



And so winter comes again to the glen and to the sea 

 pool. 



