The First Faint Noise?

Went for a walk down by Dún Laoghaire prom today (I had thought I had a dermatologist appointment, but they'd made a mistake). I knew the sea would be interesting, since the last couple of days have been stormy. You could see it roiling and boiling from a mile away: the olive-metallic colour.

I was careful not to get the camera wet, but I wanted to get the contrast with this wall (quote is from Joyce's Portrait of the Artist, when he sees the girl paddling out at Dollymount and has his epiphany). However, the sea is often blustery and wild along this stretch, so the statement was bound to be contradicted.

They cut down most of the trees near our house today. That sounds terrible, but it's actually a great relief. We were being elbowed out by a crop of fast-growing sycamores, so something had to be done. I never thought I'd find the snarl of a chainsaw so delightful, or be cheered by the noise of lopped limbs, the snowing sawdust, the meaty thud as each one hit the ground. Pure music.

Off to Malaga tomorrow, to my cousin Slant's house. Haven't been there in ages. Looking forward to it.