Thursday, September 13, 2012

Standing on Sand Dunes Dreaming of Scotland

As I awoke this morning, again, I find I am very far from home.  In this desolate place I wander out of the city, out into the barren landscape where the wind swirls and sand dunes sparkle in the burning sun, and I dream of driving through Scotland.
Here there is lush moss on the stones soft as pillows and the green grass blades whisper a hushed wind.
I can stop along the road and walk down to the lochs, leave my shoes on the rocky shore and wade out knee deep into the cold water, lapping it up to drink, splashing the drops to cool my face.
There are sheep along the road and I stop to let them pass.  Oh, sometimes I step out into their midst and they scurry away.  Little lambs falling along the slippery asphalt road, their mothers close, calling.
The road seems endless in Scotland, winding around hilltops and through villages, but certain I am that it does stop. If you drive north long enough, all roads come to an end.

But not here today in the sand dunes surrounded by nothing.  Looking out, my face veiled by scarf in the commanding heat, I sink down to my knees and stare off at the horizon through glass binoculars, studying for life, searching for something to come toward me I can touch or know is real.
Today I am dreaming of you, Scotland.  I miss your shores, your lapping lochs, your frozen night winds, your lost pathways toward winding views calling to me to become lost.
I suppose this is why we travel, so that the memories heal us from afar.  Perhaps these sand dunes today I am standing on missing everyone and everything that I love and hold dear, will sooth me at some later time.  I hope so.  

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