I’ve lived entirely in the Midwest
But my home is Scotland Lowlands
There I see people who look like me
walking down the cobblestone street
shopping in the small grocery stores
with a grocer to greet us:
small, lean, freckled with brown hair
that is red in the sunlight.
And eyes of green and hazel-
smiling in recognition of my heritage.
I love the dim gothic stone churches
with the Celtic cross which invites me
to pray and sing
Be Thou My Vision:
Riches I heed not, not vain, empty praise:
Thou mine inheritance, now and always.
Thou and thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven my treasure thou art.
I love the bag pipes
and the kilted pipers
calling me to remember a time
in the deep recesses of my heritage
when those pipes called my ancestors
to stand taller remembering the vision
of Scotland greats like Malcom and Margaret.
I love the mist and the fog
Hiding the stone homes
until a veil slowly lifts to show
green meadows and stone walls
beyond.
I love the dark rooms
with windows too small and cloudy
But a fire in the stone fireplace
chairs beside it
soaking in the warmth
a quilt thrown over the back of the chair
when the fire becomes embers.
It beckons me to sit and reflect.
I love the window seat
that looks out on a beautiful wild
garden of red and orange flowers
Feet propped in the seat
my back againsr the wall
reflecting on the beauty of life:
the irony of this American feeling
at home in
the Scotland lowlands
where my ancestors left many years ago.
