The low road stretches before me, to disappear in the distance. Other spirits make the journey at my side, we do not speak. They look like mere wisps of cloud and mist. I wonder if I look the same to them. I would ask them but the dead have no voices with which to speak.
If I could speak I would not talk of such mundane and trivial things. I would speak of the glades and glens of my home, the place to which I now travel. I will see the green rolling hills and the craggy peaks one more time before my long passage to join my ancestors in the afterlife.
I will not see my brother again before I go. He takes the high road home. That craggy path is a harsh treacherous one. My road is straight and safe, and I no longer grow tired. I will make it home long before he. It will be many years before I see him again.
My thoughts drift and roam unable to focus. A round laughing face with full red lips stands out in my mind. I remember well when I left my home. I said goodbye to my fair Annabelle in the half light of the dawn. Her golden locks shimmered as the tears fell from her eyes.
I was a warrior in life, and I have cried few times. But now I would howl and gnash my teeth. But I cannot, I have no eyes to shed the tears. I will never see my true love again on the fair banks of Loch Lomond.
But I will continue down the low road in hopes that at the end of my journey is a happy place, secure in the knowledge that all those I leave behind will one day join me.