Below, the great, swelling waves crashed against the rocks with all the fury of a battering ram besieged by an angry sea—then abating. Its rage diminished, the sea was reduced to nothing more than churning green water and white, frothy foam. There was a savage wildness here that reminded Maggie of home, for, like Scotland, this was a place born of the violence of the earth. She had not expected it, and the kinship she felt with this wild and beautiful land was both welcome and maudlin, a bittersweetness that left her reflective. She clasped her hands over her knees and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply the smell of the sea, and thought of Scotland; then, opening her eyes, she felt a wave of homesickness she had not felt since leaving her mist-shrouded shores. Yes, she thought, this is Scotland. Before the sadness. For there were no haunting echoes of the Gaelic tongue here, no dim visions of a brave piper, the kilt-clad warrior, the tragic saga of kings and queens. Sadness had not yet laid her hand upon this place.
What do You think about Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04]?
