I lived in the highlands,
green as far as the eye could see.
I ran up and down the plush hills.
Oh how I soared!
The air was still,
the smell of dew hung in the mist
like a raised hand.

Running...running...
From what?
Nothing.

Running...just running...
Where to?
Nowhere.

That was the beauty of it.
That was the dream.
No one to stop me.
Nowhere to be.
Running-soaring through the still mist,
my dreads flying back behind me.

I could hear the bagpipes in the mist.
The solitary sound pierced through
and urged me to continue
on and on, in my aimless adventure.

Readers, the dream ended like this:
I was alone.
There was no lover waiting
on the other side of the mist.
I had found my peace in the land I call home.
Scotland.
This is where my forefathers roamed.
This is where, in my dreams, I soar alone.

One day I'll return to the highlands.
Scotland, my home.