Hello everyone, everywhere,

I’m so pumped this week because my hip is getting much better: I only pulled all the muscles. On the other end of the scope, I have my arm in a sling; they think I have a hairline fracture in my elbow. I walked around for two weeks, snapping my arm, trying to get the extension going, It really hurt, and it wouldn’t work. Anyways, the doc says sling until the CAT scan. That’s okay.

Well, that’s enough of that. Let’s get on with the fun of things. I’m really excited because I’m feeling healthy again. I’m putting on weight and muscle, and I’m writing the way that I want to write. I stepped out of my comfort zone last week, so this week I’m back to myself.

This tale is something that I dreamed up while I was sitting outside, just watching the wind and the trees. It was a really windy day and it was kind of grey. This little tale just fell out of me.

Michelle and I are hoping that Dean likes the story. I’m on my way to see them on Wednesday. That’s it for me.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest. And now…



Four hundred years have come and gone.

It might have been dark, then again light.

No matter if the wee Scotsman comes a knockin’.

In the grey, a long old road; at the end, a mist.

And then–did you see that?

For him. For something. Because you won’t. Don’t you see? It’s for the better.

Because you won’t. Don’t you see? It’s for the better.

(I’m almost sure all you lassies are fine–it’s Mary he seeks).

The wee Scotsman darts magically with, and in the wind.

His eyes twinkle brown, his hair long, his face proud.

A journey set so long ago–the smell of heather.

Endlessly, never to rest.

Must find Mary.

In your dreams he will creep.

In your soul, in your passion.

Butterflies, falcons, robins, visions dancing through your most deep thoughts.

There is no running fast or far enough to stop this quest.

He will never stop. His journey is far from over.

Pull the shades and hide if you can.

Forsake not a memory.

Take them and you to safe harbour.

Cover your ears and tell your worry to rest.

Until the wee Scotsman comes a knockin’.

That’s all.


By jamesghutcheson

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