She smiles at me from beyond the eastern sea-shore. Flashing jewelled eyes, she hoists her skirts so high. Nouvelle cuisine or an oyster bar -- it's really up to her. I'll write every cheque she brings to me. She shoots on sight -- it's her European Legacy. Round the castle walls -- about the Highlands and the Islands the faint reminders stand. Visitors who took a hand a thousand years ago, or so -- stranded high and dry by tides -- washed up a new identity. The channel's wide -- but it's their European legacy. I strain my eyes against the southern light advancing. On whiter cliffs I'm high. The sea birds roll and tumble as they fly. I hear distant mainland music echo in my island ears. My feet begin to move instinctively to the warmer beat of my European Legacy.
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