September 15, 2003 - Culloden Moor
The most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen was when I was 18, sitting alone at the seminary in Quito and looking out over the tops of the Andes mountains, watching the sun die in streaks of crimson and gold. But the one I’m looking at right now is a pretty damn close second. There is a row of low hills across the horizon; the sun is sinking behind them, drawing a veil of haze across its face. The sky is striped in every shade of blue and white, from the flat slate of leftover rain clouds to thin strokes of silver above the sun's pale disc. It’s a slow sunset, pale and quiet, a cool descent rather than a fiery blaze. Peaceful, and endless, like this place.
You can’t help but be a little subdued here, looking over the field where they tried to kill Scotland, across the beech twigs lay bleached like bones and the rocks rising from the heather like mottled gravestones. And that's what they are, really. This whole place is a tomb, and a monument, restful and silent beneath the blue-gray calm of a September sunset. Two hundred and fifty years, and there are still fresh flowers ever day on every clan marker. As we walked here we passed an old couple coming down around the path with their arms full of yellow daisies. The man was carrying his cap in his hand.
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© Heather Domin
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