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Highland Blood Rite
The cut did not leave me with a scar
No silver white line marks his dirks passing
In a daily declaration of perfect love and perfect trust
When once he held my hand across the Eagle Stone...
I have nothing to remember him by
Save the promise held in the gift of a pressed flower
His mother's ring, I still sometimes wear upon my finger
The image of his soul-stirring, lightening sharp eyes
And the ghost of his kiss on my lips.
By Marie Bruce
I wrote this poem some time ago to commemorate a special moment of trust between myself and a Highlander I barely knew and whose name I wore pinned to my sleeve...Scots readers will understand that last part! We were conducting a special ritual by a Pictish standing stone in Strathpeffer, up in the Scottish Highlands. It was one of those impromptu moments of magic that just seem to happen to me when I am in Scotland. I came across the poem again recently when flicking through my work book of song/poetry snippets. It is an unpublished work from my private collection but I am happy to share it here on my blog. It is a glimpse into my past, a moment of Highland magic and romance, captured forever in poetry.
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