The Passionate Transitory

This view of the sea near Greystones, glimpsed before entering that tunnel of old trees on the steep road climbing Bray Head, caused me to pull in and try to frame it. Putting it through Lightroom just now, Patrick Kavanagh's poem The Hospital came to mind, the one about falling in love 'with the functional ward of a chest hospital', in which he lists the little familiar things that caught his attention:

The main gate that was bent by a heavy lorry,
The seat at the back of a shed that was a suntrap.
Naming these things is the love-act and its pledge;
For we must record love's mystery without claptrap,
Snatch out of time the passionate transitory.