Magical mornings

Early morning is a wonderful time on the Galway Bay shore.

As I walk to the bus, the sun is rising and there is that magical twilight time when the street lights turn off and the sun is not yet up.  The sky a pale blue, the bay a similar color.  The traffic along the road is minimal and the natural sounds dominate the spaces between the vehicles.  The heavy bass sound of the rolling waves as they reach the shore and thump down onto the wet sand.  Not the crashing sound of the surf but, I suppose, the sound of the tide going out.  After the thump the tinkling sound of sand and stones.  The call of the sea birds, the songs of the shore birds.

On mornings with fog, the lights of the shipping lanes drift in and out of visibility.  Sometimes the distant Clare shore is visible, sometimes only part of it as though it were an island, and sometimes nothing but the fog itself.

Earlier in the morning the lights of the ships moving in or out of the Galway port play hide and seek behind the bulk of Mutton Island.

‘Tis magical and ’tis a beauty that changes every day and every evening.

— Claude

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