Gerry
02-15-2008, 12:28 PM
I went for a run this morning town along the lough shore with the sun shining brightly on the broad expanse of still blue grey water. The tide was out and with no wind blowing the water reflected every drop of sunshine as effectively as some expensive space age telescope. Only the spreading delta coming from the stern of a distant fishing boat scooping up shell fish for all the posh restaurants around Europe.
Around every bend in the river another vista of calm beauty unfolded with each competing to beat the previous view with effortless ease. The exposed mud and sand along the glassy waters edge was being trod by a myriad of birds of all sizes. Tiny short legged birds race about like manic shoppers on the first day of the January sales, dodging in and out as each ripple ran ashore. The bigger log legged birds stride and probe slowly with the security of a crane operator high above a building site.
Then among this scene from the tourist manual lays a rusting wreck. Not some fishing vessels that floundered on the rocks. This eyesore was some families transport many years ago and when it reached the end of its mechanical life it was stripped of any identification or useful spares before being pushed off the road to a sorry end on the lough shore. I wonder how far they pushed this wreck and what sweat was lost to save the owner the few pounds it would cost to have it taken away and properly disposed of.
Maybe one day these people will wake up and realise they have a responsibility to the next generation to preserve this natural beauty.
Maybe, just maybe.
By Gerry Temple
copyright February 2008
Around every bend in the river another vista of calm beauty unfolded with each competing to beat the previous view with effortless ease. The exposed mud and sand along the glassy waters edge was being trod by a myriad of birds of all sizes. Tiny short legged birds race about like manic shoppers on the first day of the January sales, dodging in and out as each ripple ran ashore. The bigger log legged birds stride and probe slowly with the security of a crane operator high above a building site.
Then among this scene from the tourist manual lays a rusting wreck. Not some fishing vessels that floundered on the rocks. This eyesore was some families transport many years ago and when it reached the end of its mechanical life it was stripped of any identification or useful spares before being pushed off the road to a sorry end on the lough shore. I wonder how far they pushed this wreck and what sweat was lost to save the owner the few pounds it would cost to have it taken away and properly disposed of.
Maybe one day these people will wake up and realise they have a responsibility to the next generation to preserve this natural beauty.
Maybe, just maybe.
By Gerry Temple
copyright February 2008