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At Duntulm Castle Isle of Skye, Scotland

It used to be just snuggling for its own sake,

but here on a bench by Duntulm Castle,

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where the sea blows its chill wind inward,

my daughter snuggles in,

tells me she is cold and I am warm.

I squeeze her tight,

my right hand rubs up and down her arm

as if to build a fire.

In the distance, the Hebrides rise

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through the sea mist as though

marking the border of the world.

My daughter puts her head on my belly

and, remembering our conversation from breakfast,

says with a generosity I treasure daily,

"If you lost weight, Daddy,

you wouldn't be as warm as you are."

How we define the borders of our lives,

how blessed are their mysteries.

I look out at the blue mountains,

feel the salt wind against my face,

and - not quite daring prayer -

simply wish to hold my daughter

in this sweet embrace, forever.

Michael S. Glaser

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