Happy Mothers Day

Waking up very early to snow, stomping on crunchy ground up the hill with Max, crisp underfoot, cold everywhere else and a wee red squirrel scurrying off ahead of us. No foxes, no dear but plenty tracks. Always they seem just that wee bit ahead of us.

Back inside to the warm, to the engines of early cycles of washing machine, dishwasher and tumble dryers giving their last gasps, chugging and churning. And back to a family slowly wakened, to a rare breakfast together round the table, to Mother's Day gifts, to wee berries brightening up bowls, to divvying up the favoured chocolates.

Out to see Mum, to handover the planted flowered pot to brighten up the garden, the gardens and us, we're still wrestling off the winter. Inside mum's cosy, warm house with tea on tap and endless chocolate biscuits.

Out to Tarves for that finest and much missed of things to do on a Sunday, a pub lunch, a belly filling, sleep inducing three courser of a pub lunch. Table for 15, amid and amongst Kim, Wendy and Sharon's families. Alas poor Sharon she was too ill to come. Out to the square, where the bus stop could have been the double of us nearly 25 years ago.

And home again, back to a wedding video not watched in a decade, recently discovered and reformatted from video to cd by Mum. Not as cringeworthy as we feared, in fact, so many faces, so many family and friends captured in their finery, so much laughter, Tess loved watching it.

And now, tonight, the northern lights are in full glorious technicolor above the heads and houses of many of the same friends and family that lit up the video. Dave has headed off into the night, into the forest and up the hill, to get the perfect shot.