When to Scotland, I came to admire the very beauty of tartan against a grey Scottish sky.
Smell my dried seaweed, the water was calling. Smell my salty breath, the wind chimed in.
I wandered off to see the sheep. Blackface sang a song about obstinacy and dandelion.
Then the land ended and sky became sea.
I hid away from the sun. The leaves scraped like abrasive tongues over my skin.
In the end, everything pointed me to the water. Away, away we go.