Ticking away the moments

It's been awful in the North ever since we came back from France, but in these moments, in the midst and at the end of a lifetime, that's seemed almost apt, veils of grey cloud have made it hard to look ahead, left us rooted in now but looking wistfully backward.

But blip has come to be the manifestation of an inner belief that the moments are always there, if your eyes and your soul are open enough to see them - the climber in me has always known that the edge draws the sharpest truth, as I've wandered I've known I wasn't lost, I think I've grown to recognise the gold that doesn't glitter.

Today we wrapped up well and in a patch of blue sky wandered out into a sharp wind and onto the Scar. It's a place we know well and we wandered aimlessly along breaks in the karst and well worn sheeptrods until, unbidden, we came to the cairn that marks the highest point on this expanse of moorland. It might have been the first time we'd lifted our heads, it was certainly the first time we'd truly looked, but the heavens glowed briefly and spectacularly - and some days that's enough.