All rights reserved. (c) Mary F Carruthers
"The Hebrides, Winter
The shores of the Hebrides were
stormy, turbulent and threatening. The
skies were battle-grey and thick black roiling clouds obliterated the
skies. What skies were visible were a
dark Gray, almost fading into blackness.
Yet, it was only after noon, Greenwich time.
From the distance there was a lone
figure, clad in thick wool, oiled, and all in a blackish green overcoat like
the Black Watch plaid. It was de
rigeur to wear that these days in the Hebrides. Despite the cold blustering blowing wind and
snow, the man walked straight as a rod, and strode without fail towards the
edifice twenty yards beyond the water's edge.
It was a building - no, a castle, which rose in majesty but had no real
outline. It seemed to be a surreal
structure. It seemed to have turrets and
there were men atop the ramparts who came and went out of view. They, too, were clad in Black Watch and held
on to what looked like sleek machines that resembled machine guns of a sort
that had never been seen before.
Finally, the lone figure stood before
the edifice and looked up. His lean
features were stained with frozen snow that clung to his day old beard and
obscured his brows. There was a flinty
look to his eyes - grey and without blinking - as they surveyed the castle.
For it was a castle. The castle that has never been catalogued in
the maps of the Hebrides. This castle
was where Heaven met the earth."
