Sunset in Inverness, another day gone. We're in the last parts of the trip now, only three nights left, so each sunset, while glorious, is met with sadness. Right now, DH and I are sitting in a lovely little bar off the Glenmoriston Hotel, on the River Ness. This is a popular walking spot, so I'm having a finger of Ardbeg whilst watching the couples and prams and dogs as the gloaming encroaches, turning the river slate and making the autumn leaves flash; orange and red and yellow and green as vibrant as any in the States. But they look different here, more intense, more colorful, just... more somehow. I think it's the green, the moss and evergreens, that make contrast of the rest so vivid.

Went to both Clava Cairns and Culloden today. From a Bronze Age burial ground to the last real war between the English and the Scots. Though I've seen both before, they never cease to take my breath away. I left a small remembrance at the Well of the Dead, and marched across the marshy moor, angry all over again at Prince Charles. What hubris drove him to sacrifice his men, and his country, at Drumossie Moor?

Sigh. We will never know. But I wear my tartan proudly, glad that my history is somewhat restored.

Slàinte!