Beached, bothered and bewildered in Rush

Forget Brexit: why are Fingal Council combing our North Beach?

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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.

— Enda Sheppard

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