The Elen book is a love story to Scotland. The landscapes I viewed on my recent visit are now word paintings in the novel. People write and talk about Scotland’s wild beauty. It’s so very true. The raw beauty of the Highlands takes my breath away at almost every view – picture-postcard perfect. It’s almost too much for the eyes to drink in, but the images are embedded in my heart, my soul, my dreams, and the Elen book. I hope I can do it justice.
Here’s a snippet describing where Elen’s cottage a few miles from Culloden and near Clava Cairns:
Her cottage was nestled against a stand of Caledonian pines that sparkled in the damp air when the weak blaze of intermittent spring sun graced them throughout the day. The soil beneath the pines was a quilt of pine needles and abundant moss, forming pillows. One could lie beneath the pines on the soft needles and moss, close their eyes, and listen to the wind, soughing a bit as if it were the sea. A healthy burn clattered over rocks, a tributary of the River Nairn, gave them delicious cold water, so cold it hurt their teeth, and it tasted clean and fresh. In front of the stone and thatch cottage were four Rowan trees. Mam told her there was one for each of them. The oldest was for Gran—the next tree for her mam. There was a tree for Elen and a sapling for Helen. They were heavy with their clusters of orange-red berries.
