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Show 189 "Ach, this is difficult," Isla is saying, standing next to the bed, and she is beginning to hum an old song. I recognize it as a Scottish melody and silently beg my body to relax to its sauntering and lilting rhythms. My body does not obey but my spirit enters into the spirit of her Scottish song and dances freely. I close my eyes and there is a bold tartan scarf about my shoulders, clasped together with a silver Celtic knot, and the frills of the scarf are flying above me in the jig, bouncing up and down with the high-kicking. The bagpipes are picking up the melody with their piercing shrill assurance that they will keep sounding even through death and suddenly the heathered hills are beneath my feet and I am hiking to the top of the copse to see the monster in the Loch. She has stopped humming. I open my eyes. My fists can move one-eighth of an inch out from under my chin and I know by this that the bolus is beginning to work. We both smile at this tiny improvement, knowing that relief is finally on the way. ----• -" """* "Thanks for Scotland," I say to Isla. "It was a good trip," she is smiling, reflecting on her own memories. "I also enjoyed it." |