Just before noon after a cold wet morning, the sun broke through, lighting the undersides of the towering clouds hung over the mountains, in an otherwise flat grey November sky.
And then they came - tumbling from the clouds - their calls echoing each other ...
capping the mountains
Chasing, tumbling, up to thirty or so birds, soaring and spiralling up, until just small crosses in the sky, then falling, wings closed, only to shoot upwards again. Time and time again. Winter games.