Sanday weather (from memory)

Morning: the sky looks docile and gently blue, almost of a pastel timidity...some mauvish-greyish clouds like celestial pendants to WWI wrecks littered around the temperamental waters of Orkney lay scattered as in a pose of self-introspection... silence governs the air, bushes wave erratically, like a girl possessed by a jolt of mad cheerfulness.... the sun pours a liquid gold veneer over the scenery, covering the world into an autumnal brass....

Ach, it moves on... From the window, draped over a bleak wall cemented unto the distancing horizon, a garguantuan beast of dour and ashen spur, scurried past, dissolving to a faint reminiscence of its former might.

AND NOW... a blinding flash of sun light sweeps over the land; a fusion reaction of summerly jollity and horror reigning the isle for a instance till the clouds hold their severe dark gathering once again, and it chucks doon... violent, irresistible lashing rain, swept by the eternal, never abating wailing wind from arctic inspiration, rustling and clittering sounds fazing the abundance of quieteness, ... that eerie quieteness when this place holds like one organism its breathe before the elemental rage oozes its energy to waste to innervate the strong and shrink the dim...

The weather on Sanday is never a bore ...