17 June 2012
On Port A Chabhlaigh beach, one sunburnt afternoon I retraced childhood footsteps, between grassy sandy dune.
Slipped in craggy sharp and rock and gurgling frothy stream, where once we caught wriggled eels, silver lined in buckets green.
We ran and splashed and marvelled at each upturned seaweed wreath, In awe of all that wriggled now spewing from underneath.
Cautiously poking tiny crabs in retreating sideways scurry Seaweed's slimy bubble-wrap, goes pop in bursting flurry.
Back we'd run to sandy base where both of you sat smoking on tartan ruffled blanket In fear of slow sun stroking.
Mum adorned in plastic shades surveying her dusty sand abode, you struggle with your windswept news in awkward pose of spread elbowed.
We'd fight for the last sweet sticky bun washed down with warming fizzy belches while you drank flasked up Lyons tea. with buttered triangled sandwiches.
The sun beat down on reddened skin, as we returned to splash. happy in our carefree world we'd leave you to your ash.
Those were days we loved the most stretched out in childhood time, we lived in sand and castled bliss and played in nature's rhyme.
The Beach • Opuss № I