like a magnet, coumeenole 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 sea front, only fisherman pumping boats, town
on my right, a quick nod up at dicks mac’s, ill be back, ill be back, but i have to
get to coumenole and i have to get there early.
passing ventry, sea on my left, i am 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 coumeenole and i have to get there early… and the i am there winding down
to the beach waves crashing on rocks, seabirds dancing on the tide early
always early and yes no footprints.