land of birth
land of movement
land of character
beautiful land the feet
walk upon, the eyes
see, the lungs breathe, and
the cairns the hand touches
in salutation, in belonging,
the lichen, the moss, the slow
movement of antlers and a
russet body silent in the trees
September  in the Highlands
my place
my place of ease, water
and ferns, and
alder trees full-grown
the curlews, peat-bogs, high
snows and herds moving
slowly at the mountain rim
pure living pure sky
and the stars big and
bright and alive burning
in the green and blue
flame of the northern lights
Orion's climb and stride
our many roads
impassable and black
make it tough to
get there, tough
to go back
Nu Sculon Herigean
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