It was late in the evening and a foul winter chill was setting in. The wind blew hard from the south, and on it's putrid wings rode the stench of corruption. Flying down the interstate, mild mannered Bob Jacob was traveling to yet another eventful evening. By day, a simple unemployed salesman, but by night he dons the ancient garb of the mystical piper of Sandyverness.
This evening, however, Piper Bob would face a foe so hideous as to defy description. Looking out the windows of his old Bronco, the gray forbidding atmosphere foreshadowed doom, there was evil in the clouds. Hmmm, looks like thar's a nor-easter a blowin. Best be keepin' me whits aboot me , Bob thought to himself.
Opening the bag that carried his pipes revealed a foreboding sight. Llieam was shivering, not a normal event.
"Whit's a matter boy? Tis a normal night, let's awa and gie em a show!"
The pipes refused to move. In a low, hushed voice they whispered,
"Nae lad. Thar's evil afoot. Let's awa tae home. It's nae use workin' in this foul weather."
Bob grew impatient.
"Look here laddie, We've no' walked awa frae a squall an' I'm no' aboot too do so now! Oot wi' ya now, we've a livin' tae make."
Without further debate, Bob wrested the pipes from their comfortable home and set out into the night. As they arrived at the battlefield, Piper bob took Llieam from the bag and breathed life into him. The wind was blowing but it was a balmy 56 degrees. Llieam breathed in the fresh air.
"Ach, I'm sorry Bob. I was jist panicking I reckon. Why, it's a bonny evening. Let's sing!"
After a few harsh notes as both pipe and player became one, the gentle strains of Celtic music began to fill the air. It was not long, however, before the mood began to change. Like a falling rock, the temperature began to plummet. Soon the blissful night became a torrent of foul, inclement weather.
"Hang on, Llieam. I'll try tae move closer tae some shelter!"
Bob screamed into the storm, but all Llieam could do was shiver and hope. Battling against the wind, Bob struggled to the shelter of the awning over the venue.
On and on they battled, but soon it proved a useless endeavor. The weather had won. The retreated to the safety of their cave, vowing that tomorrow would be their day. In one last defiant moment, Bob turned and raised his shaking fist.
"Curse you Old Man Winter! Ye'll no' git off so easy tomorrow!"
