Walking the great wide moorish spaces between hill passes, my body was Clan, wool clad, marching to meet the leaders of my enemies in the valley of Glen Coe. My feet are military boots, ringing a march on the rock-lined roads. My heart is a starling, high on the wind with the world a curve below me. It was more pleasure than pain today. I don't know if it was the sunshine, the pathway, the eggs I had for breakfast. Maybe it doesn't matter. Whose over-thinking things? It's nicer to walk through the countryside and think about elements of grammar.
Good night to Glencoe, good night to you.