They called to me long before I ever knew their voice.
They bade me in trust and welcome…
and I found them.
Just as sure as they had called to me…
an ocean away, waiting, expectant, and with wild eyes,
I found them.
Spending aroma and afternoon on me, they called me friend.
I walked among them for more time than anyone could ever call deserved.
It is a wandering that still carries all the vivid of yesterday, but so too cradles a time of tragedy and Love long absent.
The rarest of Scottish flowers were placed in my hands…
I breathed them in,
quickly and forever,
but somewhere along the way, I forgot,
and befallen intentions gave way to befallen hands.
For as surely as I breathed them in,
let them deepen my world,
and remind me of how humble one must be in order to approach the lights of Love…
I threw them to the ground.
But Scottish flowers are stronger than my momentum could ever be, and they survived my clumbsy hands and failed good intentions.
They now live free.
They now live mindful of misplaced affections, for even that which wishes to protect them must get close enough to do so.
That which is sacred forbids even a careless touch.
Such were the Scottish flowers I walked among…and I threw them to the ground.