First Visit To Dingle
The Atlantic pulsates.
Walls of water build up, green
and crash down, white, on brown sand.
The ocean foams.
Flotsam disappears in moments of undertow.
Smooth boulders embedded with shells
reach into the sea:
limpets and winkles cling to stony fingers
till the next high tide.
I climb as far as I dare
fighting the wind along the way.
I return as the tide quickens its pace
and waves wash the ridge
where I had stood
a few moments ago.
Clouds sweep the sky,
roll lively with high gales
to show blue patches
and pull ragged shapes
from the shadow of a fog.
In the distance
the mountains are suddenly clear.
Lorraine Whelan is a writer and visual artist based in Ireland.