Speyside Dawn

It's soundless but for my boots crunching snow. The trees are furred with frost, the dark extremities of birch white, looking like the ghosts of trees, like a photographic negative. The fog has closed in but the hint of sunrise I saw earlier, that hint of an extraordinary day about to begin, appears in a hole in the fog, a rosy mountain peak plastered in snow.

The forest I am wandering in smells of cold and pine. A heady and free scent. I feel so glad to be alive.

Ten minutes. If only it were all day. I get back in the car and drive on to my rendezvous, passing walkers preparing for a cracking day on the hill. I feel a pang of jealousy. They have all day to enjoy this!



But a lot can happen in ten minutes, if you know how.