The more days that pass here in Australia, a land foreign to me which I now call home, My thoughts return to Scotland and become gradually stronger. Its as if some unseen force pulls at my very heart and soul, pulls me back to my place of birth. My dreams are filled with the sounds of the Golden Eagle high above the trees canopy, the rush of the wind over the cliffs of the Highlands, Notes of an Celtic flute and an Irish fiddle dancing along to the bagpipes and the sweet soft plucks of the harps. Like liquid gold the melody fills me in my sleep continuously bringing back a longing toward home, as if some part of me was left behind when I made the trip, yet when I think of what it might be nothing comes to mind. The thick mists and fogs of a Scottish loch clouds my mind now, as I sit by the window and stare out toward an Australian summers day, where as it would be a cold and windy winter night back home... Its my first winter away from the forests, the friends I had, the animals who I used to watch from the branches of the tree's when I was young.
Here in Australia there are no cold winters, no icy gale to blow through my now semi-long brown and red hair, no friends with which to haul in the Yule log with, no fireplace to cast it into. I feel lost, and alone. Here in this chair by the window in my room I look unto a grassy plain of my brothers land, but the plain is not what I see as I stare out blankly, I see a never ending forest, filled with thick mist that lay close to the forest floor, the branches glisten with dew from the early morning sun that shines down through the thin canopy of the tree's brown and yellow leaves, snow falling ever so gently unto the forest, covering it gently like a new born in a soft white blanket of familiarity.
I feel as if I've lost my home, and this large empty house, that holds only three people within it at the moment is not my home, but a place to stay. I can't go back to Scotland now, I'd have nowhere to stay, My parents disowned me, the castle belonging to our family is still under the ownership of my grandmother, who I've had no contact with since the move. Something draws me back like the sound of a mother calling her children to dinner, and yet unlike them I am bound by reluctance and held back by sea's and continents.
Here in Australia there are no cold winters, no icy gale to blow through my now semi-long brown and red hair, no friends with which to haul in the Yule log with, no fireplace to cast it into. I feel lost, and alone. Here in this chair by the window in my room I look unto a grassy plain of my brothers land, but the plain is not what I see as I stare out blankly, I see a never ending forest, filled with thick mist that lay close to the forest floor, the branches glisten with dew from the early morning sun that shines down through the thin canopy of the tree's brown and yellow leaves, snow falling ever so gently unto the forest, covering it gently like a new born in a soft white blanket of familiarity.
I feel as if I've lost my home, and this large empty house, that holds only three people within it at the moment is not my home, but a place to stay. I can't go back to Scotland now, I'd have nowhere to stay, My parents disowned me, the castle belonging to our family is still under the ownership of my grandmother, who I've had no contact with since the move. Something draws me back like the sound of a mother calling her children to dinner, and yet unlike them I am bound by reluctance and held back by sea's and continents.
