This is not a thrush

I thought it was a mistle thrush. So did Mrs F. Then it turned briefly towards us and showed a browny-yellow splodge under the chin. Rush for the bird books. It was a fieldfare. Usually we get those in flocks, with a wonderful undulating flight pattern. Solo is unusual, but the berries on the cotoneaster were being gobbled.

Clear blue sky today, brilliant sunlight, with crystalline reflections off the fields around us. All a bit diamanté.

The panoramic views from the Porridge Hill are fantastic. Southward, we see the Monaliath Mountains, and the Cairngorm Massif beyond. West we have Ben Wyvis, less a Ben than a range of them.  To the north we see right across to Sutherland and the mountains on the Caithness border. And just to the right of that are the nearby Souters, hills either side of the entrance to the Cromarty Firth, which make me warble on about art deco landscapes on sunny mornings. All uniformly snow clad.

If only we could get out, but the public road is still impassable.