366 days of gratitude

If there’s such a thing as genetic memory, it kicked in when I visited Scotland.

I felt, if not at home, at least as if I was somewhere familiar.

I enjoyed seeing places I’d heard of and read about and while my farmer sometimes struggled to understand what the locals were saying, I had no trouble at all with the accent.

Today, on St Andrew’s Day, I’ve been listening to Scottish music, recalling happy times in the land of my ancestors and been reminded of my tartan genes for which I’m grateful.


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