No footprints in the sand
Like a magnet Coumeenoole beach drags me back, drags me down its deep incline, early, always early, before footprints march ugly across my waiting canvas. Approaching the Dingle peninsula, I pass the beauty of Inch strand, a crime not to stop. I promise I will return, I promise. But I have to get to Coumeenole and I have to get there early. I drive through Dingle along the seafront, only fisherman pumping boats, town on my right. A quick nod up at Dick Mac’s. I’ll be back, I’ll be back. But I have to get to Coumeenoole beach and I have to get there early. Passing Ventry sea on my left, I was imagining waves. I can see the Blasket Islands now demanding my attention. Rising, posing, proud and vain because every camera stops for them but not me, not now, not this time. I have to get to Coumeenoole and I have to get there early…..and then I am there, winding down to the beach, waves crashing on rocks seabirds dancing on the tide, early, always early and yes, no footprints.
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