I want to write the spirit of Scotland, the wild, rugged land, with her wild, rugged people. I want to write what makes them love their land so fiercely. I want to write the fierce pride in their eyes, the defiance, the strength, the energy. I want to write the energy of the land, the echo of the wind through the mountains, the crash of the tide on the rocky cliffs, the crack of thunder as a brilliant flash of lightening illuminates the land below. I want to write of the birds who soar overhead, mere shadows against the shining sun. I want to write the bursting of the man's heart as he stands triumphant on the hill, declaring his victory to the world, to the universe, as the stars dance overhead, shining their glory with the man's, lighting up the battlefield, with the dead, the wailing widows, the tragedy of death, the death of those who fought to regain their lives, their bodies and spirits now becoming one with the land, the life-giving energy of the land. I want to write these things, but no mere words could possibly capture the essence of Scotland.