The evening of September 18th 2014, the long quest for Scottish Independence was never promised to be a quiet affair. Whichever outcome of this historic vote, England would feel the furies of fresh and old wounds of lost blood and found pride. From the Highlands, emotions raged through the night.
But in England, after a day of haze, the evening skies cracked their loudest message. This battle rained torrents and travelled south of the border through the night, reaching the seat of London where it would be felt at its loudest at around 3am.
How contrarily mid September works. The days can bring the bliss of perfect sunshine, warmth, clarity, even the promise of youth, happiness and pure contentment, but it can all be washed away by evening with unforeseen chaos.
Last night, history lamented and even the most fragile rose beauties would not be untouched by the untamed wrath of the storms.
By the morning, it was once again calm, but it was grey. With 55% lead, England was seen to rule once again, but in this battle, the blood which spilled 3 centuries ago and more, and which we thought had dissolved deep in the wilderness of the peat hills, had definitely not been laid to rest.
© 2014 La Floralie