Forget Brexit: why are Fingal Council combing our North Beach?
Yeah, I suppose I am a bit aghast at the Brexit Leave result. And mildly worked up for sure about the Donald Trump phenomenon and vaguely troubled by all sorts of global things when I am reminded. Or somebody posts something on my social media feeds. Or the News comes on.
But just now I am actually rooted in silent, bludgeoned dismay, a marooned and lonely sea stack finally aware of its weathering disintegration, and the end of all things coming, when I see that Fingal Council tractor thing turning the sand yet again on the North Beach in Rush.
Doubtless there is some sound reason for it. Or not.
But I just abhor it. Hate to see nature’s latest routine masterpiece thoughtlessly flipped by a thudding metal bucket and tossed into a flat grey field of unrelated stone particles meeting for the first time.
What I love is the inexhaustable kaleidoscopic reconfiguration and fantastic reshaping of every sandy curve and contour, each carelessly and carefully repositioned barnacle or seaweed tress a fresh marvel to behold. A pop-up seaside landscape spun from a remote 3-D printer. Walking barefoot and feeling the still warm water shimmering in those wave-crimped ridges left by the retreating tide.
Machine and man finish their work and there’s just time for a satisfied flask of tea before lurching off to lay down another such meadow without pattern, curve or point on another council beach.