Scottish diary

I have double vision after my eyes open 
like suitcases, looking out of the window at the
pomegranate coloured twilight and a moon
of red, Perhaps I am being invited to
record my thoughts in this colour. Outside
a chorus is led by an unknown bird singing
the sky's song. I compare photographs with
memories of my travels in Scotland, recall 
is different depending on the time of day
or night-they are like two tattooists whose
needles meet and conflict. Staying in Glasgow
after being in Edinburgh and comparing the two
is like trying to inflate a balloon from within.
I wonder if someone somewhere in another dimension
is recording these same events, ready with two
suitcases. I have a vague yearning for a place
never visited, that is hard to articulate, like
the rain trying to cry-perhaps it is the same 
impulse that makes people want to believe in the
loch ness monster. I visited the Fyrish monument
which is now like a finger-less glove and Dunrobin
castle, contrasting the two is like stroking a crown
with a finger-less glove, but of course the glove is
equally as valuable, restitching fingers with a golden
thread. Had a ghost entered the dreams of a windhorse?,
the winds blowing from the south west on the Isle of
skye were tremendous. I believe the underworld is overcrowded
with ghosts and they are in search of alternative accommodation.
My mind is filled with far too many images to quantify, I don't
have the movements of a windhorse, but perhaps a ghost
could enter a dream and share their judgment, which images
from the Isle of Skye are the best and which ones will remain?-
how far into the dream does the ghost have to go before being
unable to find it's way back?, it will be difficult returning home
after being stroked subtly into Scotland's slipstream and it will
be a long time before completing the cache of echoes.
My dreams about Scotland are trampled on by a windhorse, making
wine, the moon is now it's normal colour and has thinned to a
candle, maybe I could place it in a bottle with this page-the wine
will probably be pomegranate coloured. Daylight
approaches I have thoughts of Ben Nevis, people are waking, dreams
will be cascading. Now I must accord with English protocol, the night 
has poured Scottish memories and my glass is full.