The World that was Mine; The Dunes of Strandhill

I put my tent up in the dune hills outside of town. The dunes themselves are massive and snake through a handful of acres that are cradled by bay and beach. The wind is intense, if it is not the rain it is always something else in Ireland. The sun was setting beautifully with purples and pinks- the sand of the dunes glowed like coals under a fire.IMGP2040
I got such a strange notion as I explored this expanse in the setting hours. As I meandered through the hills, valleys and animal trails to crest and trough, I found myself invigorated-even to the point of being worked up. My blood began pumping; the wind was rushing through my hair. I took my flip-flops off and felt this burning desire to sprint and scream till my lungs couldn’t produce energy enough. The course wavey rushes and grass that coated the land whipped in the breeze like a straw colored, green hide. My voice was utterly drowned by the ocean tide and rushing wind.IMGP2027
I felt, looking across the scape, that this was my world and I the giant that thundered through this varied, geological microcosm. I picked up a snail and examined its shell that was a mottled pink and grey. These snails, though each being a unique color, flood the landscape floor with their presence- this is their habitation and I am the reckless god that headlessly crushes them under my heel as I go my merry way.
The temperature will dip down into the 30’s tonight; the forecast predicts little rain but I’ll believe the opposite and prepare my camp likewise.IMGP2051Check out some more pictures at Foreign Sojourn

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