Weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native country. Jeremiah 22:10
But the sons of his sons, by the force of their blood, by their need to find home, shall be drawn like salmon to the place of their origin, to the spawning ground of their genes.
Thus I find myself in my dreams at the head of the Loch, looking past the Ozymandian ruins of Ardvreck Castle toward the loch-side village of Inchnadamph, home of my ancestors.
The nippled sandstone breast of Quinag and the soft slouch of her hand maidens - Sail Ghorm and Sail Gharb - give shape to the horizon.
They stand dignified witness to the Brownian motion of the passing parade, their mute stillness reflecting its transience and irrelevance.
And I find myself belonging.
Thus I find myself in my dreams at the head of the Loch, looking past the Ozymandian ruins of Ardvreck Castle toward the loch-side village of Inchnadamph, home of my ancestors.
The nippled sandstone breast of Quinag and the soft slouch of her hand maidens - Sail Ghorm and Sail Gharb - give shape to the horizon.
They stand dignified witness to the Brownian motion of the passing parade, their mute stillness reflecting its transience and irrelevance.
And I find myself belonging.
