The little robins song, a delicate meaningful trill, sings of a river with pebbles lain about its girth, cool water flowing fresh and clear, brown trout swimming against a natural flow from the hills on either side of the serene valley, blanketed by a faint smelling, sweet fragranced heather, winter snow caps of Nevis ringing a chilling shrill of icy cold air, picturesque land surrounded by ancient pine trees & oak with an ancestry of peaceful deer, theres a whispering in the air as the leaves fall...... “Soon th' winter wull be 'ere”
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