Kicking up a storm here and in Spain

ON the second day of last week’s storms and spring tides, I walked down the long, sandy beach that stretches away from the village of Courtmacsherry, in west Cork.

At low tide it was 200 yards wide, edging the woods along the channel, almost all the way to the open sea. The sun shone, the wind buffeted my ears, and sand devils raced past me, as if cavorting for joy in that world of zephyrs and white horses that leap out of the incoming sea, their manes blown back in the blast.

The storm walk was wild and wonderful, but I enjoyed it alone, seeing not another soul abroad on my two-mile circuit along the beach, the cliffs, and, homeward, through the woods.