I was out at the beach around lunchtime today when the tide was making her way in ever so gently. The sea wasn’t rough but the waves were going in all directions ~ rather like the legs of newborn lambs.
It made me think of lace, intricate crochet, and well-worn hands knitting Aran Sweaters without any need to even glance at a pattern.
I carved the word wave in the sand and, as I was watching the sea come in to gently wash each letter away, I thought of the many ways in which we use the word: wavy hair; waves of grief; a wave of the hand; waving goodbye, crashing waves; whispering waves…
Tides are high here in Co. Waterford these times. I could spend hours just watching the waves.
I took this photograph over the harbour wall out at Boat Strand yesterday morning. I must admit to feeling a little seasick as I look at it now even though I felt absolutely wonderful when I was actually there to witness the sea in all her glory.
Tramore was deserted this morning as the high tide greeted the day.
I was more determined than ever to see it this morning having met a very dear friend yesterday who is now feeling old age creep up upon her. She was once very like me ~ an early riser, a sea baby, a sports fanatic, dog lover and a great walker.
She was looking well but confided in me that the thing she misses most about ageing is not having the energy, balance and mobility that she once had to savour the delights of Tramore which is her natural habitat.
The longing and memories in her eyes were etched in my mind as I walked along the beach bewitched by every single wave that hesitated ever so momentarily before breaking into a white foamy smile.