He took my hand in Ardross Street and held it tight for long. Petals were covering the paths, my eyes kept looking low.
He told me his land was the land of myths and thrills and beasts and castles; all I could see was sun and spring. His eyes were glowing bright, his voice was fierce and mighty; was this indeed the land of myths and thrills and beasts and castles?
He told me of when he was young, at Inverness he grew. At Loch Ness he had his first steps, at Urquhart he played. Out in the fields and in the mist, looking for dragons and for maids.
We walked and walked that afternoon. Streets were all quiet and remote, walls were all dark and moist. Doorsteps well-cared for and restored. No scream was coming out of there, no argument or laughter. Silence and peace and peace again, that was all I was after.
Beauty was there, in every drain, in every path and picture.
And all the flowers that we passed, we smelled and kissed and whispered.
At Inverness he took my heart,
at Edinburgh he gave it back.