Winding rutted road, ancestral journey’s quest,
Languidly she meanders amongst the Highland’s emerald glen.
Subtle fragrance, sparkling dew cradles amethyst heather blooms.
Ascending the gentle slope, descendant strolling upward,
To Ben Lochnagar’s lofty peaks, in search of Clan and cairn.
Dreaming dreams of bygone days; thatched roof crofts,
Stony fences, kilted clans, lilting brogues, gaunt faced children.
Tatties rotting in the loam, starvation’s inevitable horizon looms.
Bagpipes wail, heartbreaking throes of loneliness, desperation parting.
Broadsword forgotten, departing Clans surrender, scattering survival.
Sail west upon the mystery seas, envision America’s shores.
Sails unfurled, farewell tears, sons and daughters trod forth,
Promising missals of hope, on Londonderry’s graying, sea swept wharf .
Land tillers all, settle, planting, harvesting, achieving dreams.
Ages pass, cultivating generations of gallant, unkilted Scots-Americans.
Descendant stands, atop the misty mountain, tightly clasped hand, squeezing,
Rocky contents, gently hoisting love, joyous greetings, gentle embraces,
Through the misty memories of ages past, gathering all progeny,
Tossing the symbolic stone, shattering eons;
She carries the family home.
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Comments: 30
"She carries the family home."
That last line really got to me.
Jennifer, Sue, Lora, April and Eileen - Tears still fill my eyes as I think of that heart pounding moment. My Scots grandfather's love of the land and family, runs deep in my veins...so much so, at times words just don't do it, just a remembering missing him smile.
Debra - It is indeed a loving memory for sure...thanks for commenting. Appreciate you!
Donna - Have you done any genealogy research? Be warned; once you start the bug starts to gnaw on you and its addicting. We visited the ancestral castle on the Isle of Skye while there, I could close my eyes and envision my ancestors all gathered, singing, dancing and smiling. Thanks for commenting!
Sometimes I wonder if foreigners undestand our traditions - You wrote very movingly about it.
Ishbel - Many times on that journey home, I'd glance over at my 71 year old (at the time) Mom. She'd be gazing out the window, tears streaming down her cheeks. I finally asked her if she was unhappy? "No," she said, "just wishing my Daddy knew I was here." Her Dad, my grandfather, was the kindest, gentle, soft spoken man I've ever known...thanks so much for commenting. It means a lot, that I did it right...:)))
I often walk out on the Pentland Hills (on the outskirts of Edinburgh) - I still take a couple of stones in my pocket.....