by Heather Foster

Created on: February 20, 2010

                The mountains are covered with snow today. There are clouds gradually creeping down the slopes and dropping more snow. Silence reigns around me here on the ranch. Snow muffles sounds of vehicles passing by on the road as it falls in huge sparkling flakes. It covers the ground; coats tree limbs and bushes and decorates everything it touches with a pure white blanket. The orchard and berry bushes slumber, peacefully waiting for spring to wake them into spring blossoms.

                A long walk in the woods is tempting, even though the woods are on the other side of the pasture. It’s cold outside but also beautiful. Peace soaks into every nerve just watching the gentle fall of snow. No wind disturbs the falling snow. They call this a storm but this sense of calm is wonderful, if lonely.

                In my mind I see your face and even though centuries have passed your memory is as clear as the day you rode away that last time. Your plaid wrapped over your saffron shirt and held in place by your father's brooch drew my eyes to you. You sat your dappled gray horse easily and your tam was cocked over one eye a bit giving you a rakish look.

                The hunt was to be a good one according to the clan witch. We would eat well that night and celebrate with feasting. How wrong she was, and when the truth came about hours later she wept along with the rest of us. No one blamed her for not seeing the ambush that came, although some wondered.

                When the men came back to the keep with your body draped over your horse a piece of me died that day. The attack by a rival clan had been well planned and executed. A third of our men died that day and we mourned greatly that night. I’ll not forget your cousin Ian handing me your dirks, your dagger and your sword as tears ran down his face. He never wanted to take your place as laird of the clan but he was the next in line and, like you, he never shirked his duty. He didn't see me slip out of the keep later that night with your sword in hand. Your horse knew me well and moved quietly as I rode away toward what

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