Summer sun changes everything

ON the south coast, on these sun-kissed days, one can listen to the cries of the terns as they soar, brilliant against the sky, and then drop, spinning like sycamore samaras, to take sandeels from the surface of the sea.

Above them, big gannets ride the air, their wing tips black as jet against their snow-white wings. Rocketing into the sea, they raise fountains of white spume.

These are gorgeous days to be abroad in the countryside, to flake out in a meadow of white and pink clover, shining buttercups and purple seal-heal, and look straight up into the cloudless sky. Self-heal, indeed! An hour laid out in a west Cork meadow could better a week of therapy for a distressed soul.