The Burren, Ireland Yesterday and last night we had a mighty Atlantic storm. Rain sluiced down the windows. I was pleased because they are now perfectly clean. It is the pinpricks of rain that shower the glass with salt that need a hose job in order to see out. Off we set for our local beach, Bishop’s Quarter. There were three lines of seaweed, the one nearest the sea being the last, marking the lowest tide. There must have been hundreds of pouches, like medieval drawstring bags. They were of all sizes, from thumbnail size to almost 90cm wide. The colours too were varied; light brown to dark, to black and a shade I’d seldom seen before, bitter green. I found a bitter green one with a piece of delicate pink dulse draped around it. They were of course all empty of the little creatures they once held as they floated to and fro in the ocean. Among them lay the egg masses of whelks and everywhere laminaria (seaweeds), some still attached to their mooring rocks, the rocks ripped out of the storm-struck waters.

Original Source Country diary: The Burren, Ireland