On the other side of silence,
A lonely, primeval drone.
Wind hisses through the violets.
The dejected spirit moans.
I reach for eternal solace,
But grasp only chiseled stone.
Here, climbing toward the Highlands,
My sureness of hiking honed.
I cross and rush to Inverness
In search of the ancients’ bones.
They bless me with their hieroglyphs
I cannot decode alone.
I wander through the mistiness,
Keep clambering for my home.