Vanessa - A Highlander Tale
Strange goin's-on in this place, aye. I've lived in this crusty old cabin in the highlands of Loch Ness for twenty years plus one. My lovely wife died a year after we married, so I moved away from the village into this isolated place to be alone. You want to ask me if I've seen Nessie. Aye. Many a time. But it's not Nessie that's raised goosebumps on my skin, nae. It's her - Vanessa. I named her after my late wife. It began about 3 years ago. There I was on a chilly day in October starin' dreamily out of my single, solitary window 'round about the gloamin' into the hills above when I spotted the lass, her reddish-brown hair blowin' in the breeze as she danced 'mongst the heather, her laughter echoin' throughout the Loch. Instinctively I got myself together and sped toward the heavenly spectre. She ran like a gazelle down the mountain in the direction of Urquhart Castle. I watched carefully as she entered the ruins and into Grant Tower. She was trapped and she was mine. As I drew near I could hear her giddy chortle tauntin' me as if to say, "I'm here love, waitin'." But when I entered the tower there was no one there, just crumbled rock. Then I spied it - a green scarf lyin' on the ground. I picked it up and held it to my nose and then froze where I stood. The scent of fresh heather was unmistakable!
white fairy in the mist
dancing in fields of heather
I've never told a soul about my visions and never will. Who would believe a lonely, foolish old man? For three years straight she's appeared to me in the autumn of the year when the warm turns to chill and the leaves turn to gold, before the snows blanket the hills like white satin. Maybe I've lost my mind, who's to say? But it's what I live for now. Nessie? She's quite a gal. But my Vanessa, she's the dream, the vision. One day I'll catch up to her and hold that lass in my arms in a field of heather... and never let go. Aye.
* Disclaimer: I don't believe in ghosts. This is the story of a very lonely man living in a part of the world where the lines between fantasy and reality are often blurred.
Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018