My Celtic Soul

I went for a long walk last night, outside the city walls and into the country, where I followed a paved road intended for farm vehicles. The gently curving road led past golden fields of wheat, feathery heads waving in the breeze; two rows of apple trees, green fruit beginning to swell into maturity; and a small house hidden in a thick. protective hedge, with only its red clay tiled roof visible to passersby. It was incredibly peaceful...a good place to meditate and let my thoughts wander. I will visit this place again.

I did a bit of shopping yesterday at some small shops I hadn't visited before. Once of them was a Scottish shop owned by a distinguished gentleman from Edinburgh, who told me he has been here 20 years now. Several of the other stores featured dragon statues, Celtic jewelry and music, and swords and other weapons. Much as I love Italy, Germany, and many of the other places I have visited or lived, I am reminded that I have a Celtic soul. I connect most with my Scottish roots. The sound of a bodhran, a war drum used now in Celtic music, or a the skirl of the pipes makes my nerves zing with recognition of something ancient and primal. A life lived long ago amoungst the heather and peat bogs, mist settling gently over a haunting landscape of green valleys and forbidding dark mountains. Tall men in kilts, a long, narrow braid of hair framing their faces painted in the colors of war. Fearsome warriors, these. Green hills dotted with fluffly, white sheep. Standing circles of stones, both large and small. A land of Picts and Druids, the mystical, the mythical, and the magical. This is my heritage.....who I am. One day I shall return home.