In the summer months we spend much of our time in the north coast of Ireland, enjoying what precious little sunshine we are lucky enough to get. It is nearly time to close up our caravan for another year and pack away the summer memories with the BBQ, the bucket and the spade. The beaches are deserted now, the sea swells in grey mountainous waves, brave walkers are swaddled from head to toe. The landscape feels familiar but different as though the summer might have just been a pleasant dream. In the distance I think I can still hear the screams and laughter of the children on their summer holidays. I see the image of my little man running in the summer sun like a watermark, on my vision. Memories like footprints in the sand, semi-permanent, each one washing away to allow another to take its place. I want to hold on tight to them, relive them, and keep them in a glass dome so I can shake them into action. Summer days with my precious little man, I will store them in my chest, snug tight to my heart.
