I had lain in bed before dawn listening to the rain on the roof. On the garden two inches of slushy snow. A forecast of more rain. Not very inspiring. Even the dog kept her head down refusing to look at me. A cold, sloppy run up into the clag. But the day was brightening, on Little Roseberry, blue sky, and across the col, on Odin’s hill, a momentary gleam of sunshine or as the Scots would say: a simmer blink. A lovely phrase.