Trying to remember verse I came up with, it went something like

the rain keeps falling cold and wet,

mamma moans for her clochette

the waiters asks

are you ready yet?

knowing the word but not what it meant, apparently it’s some type of cheese.  I pull words like that sometimes at random.  The day today blazing the sky from blue to white, I couldn’t tell if there were clouds on the horizon, the blue of sky had faded before the white-heat of the sun. But the wind continued cold and crisp from the north sea, reminding one of the curvature of the Earth and that we were on the cusp, veering away from the equator.  Scotland bore itself with forthright greenness today, bearing tulips and bright popping colours of flowers along hedgerows and flower borders.  Girls in denim shorts and rainbow tops walked down to the beach.  I sat in a patio somewhere like the rest, sipping cold water while the sun burned through the fabric of my pants.  Nowhere like the humidity of the Caribbean (must I always compare?) the way heat melds with sweat to make clothes stick to one and skin coat itself with moisture, some kind of hybrid land animal, forging a sheer coating of wetness as self-preservation against the sun.  The Caribbean sun is yellow and heavy and fierce, golden heat hanging full and brazen, mercilessly beating one, pressing over the land until all shy away into the cool of indoors.