Highland sheep dotted the roadside under the pre-dawn sky. The velvet canopy looked like flocks of faeries had tossed fistfuls of glitter at the new moon only to have it stashed inside the Big Dipper and then purposefully strewn across the Milky Way by their extraterrestrial counterparts so that this tiny group of earthlings might stand in awe of the universe’s expansive beauty from the gravel car park at the foot of Beinn Hiant, Scotland’s Magic Mountain*, the highest hill on the Ardnamurchan peninsula.
The bulky behemoth’s size was clear from the patch of twinkling stars that it blocked from sight. The mountain is touted as being an easily manageable ascent in the tourist guides, but for the out-of-shape slug I’d recently become, I viewed watching the sunrise with my retreat companions after a seventeen-hundred-foot hillwalk more like an expedition up Everest. Continue reading
Once the morning sun broke through the clouds, the grey mist pulled back from Glenborrodale’s ragged shoreline’s nooks and crannies. It rose from the loch like a gossamer shade tugged from the edge of a wooded windowsill revealing a beauty distinct to the Scottish Highlands.
Ichiro snores. The fog horn blows. My feet are cold and the fragrance of lilies on the kitchen counter drifts into the living room where I stare at the precarious position of my teacup on 
Car horns honk. Motorbikes beep. 
Potty talk took on a new meaning for me today when I stopped to wash my hands in the ladies room before lunch. I had just pumped the soap dispenser and turned on the tap when a young voice from inside the stall behind me pierced the silence, “Simon says, ‘
When I bumped into Benjamin Franklin yesterday, he told me to have a seat and tell him what was new. Not wanting to saddle him with the troubles of our time, I showed him the best writer’s resources since Roget’s Thesaurus. Then I mentioned the vault brimming with prizes connected to the celebration of these newly released gems. Well, he nearly jumped out of his bronze skin. “Blazes, my fair lady!” he cried. “Thou must go forth and help spread the word!” And so, I am. Not because he insisted on it, but because I already love using the duo’s other thesauri. Now, read on, and then I’ll race you to the vault. Last one there is a fetid egg…
Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner 