Aide Memoire

[Leanne]

Bring to me a torn white heather, that I may recall the brae.
Lay in my hand a Black Grouse feather, better to relive the day.
Pour for me a glowing whisky, constant comfort through the years.
Take me where they smoke-cure salmon, excuse for sudden welling tears.
Then play for me the pipes 'till gloaming, fill the spaces left to fill
and I will carry this land in me...today, tomorrow, always, still.
tectak
Glen Moriston
2014

I'll be back in Scotland in June -- it's the place I find most difficult to write about without waxing so lyrical as to sound cliched, because I always think that everything that can be written about the place already has been. This warms me, and for that I am grateful. Slainte.