The weather is changing with haste.

The air remains crisp and clear, yet, even the faintest wind is so bitter on my skin. I'm bundling up in the mornings and struggling to remove the layers when I start my working day, although I know if I kept too many on I wouldn't appreciate them when I once more venture into the harsh outdoors. The snow shovel propped against the wall speaks loudly to me now. Winter might be a beautiful season in Scotland, but there's not denying that mother nature can be brutal when she chooses to be.