The south wind blows. It brings with it enough sunshine to put a spring into everyone’s step and, it seems, sand from the Sahara.
Yes, the southerly breezes are literally transporting dust clouds all the way from Africa to these Irish shores.Isn’t that wonderful?
The folk from Met Eireann, well used to delivering a monotone of sunny spells and scattered showers, are thrilled to tell us all about this piece of exotica livening up our shores.
Mind you, I’d rather I`d heard it before I shampooed my car oh so carefully yesterday. One shower of rain later and it was covered with a fine film of dirt.
But isn’t it amazing to think that same dust may have swirled around camel’s hooves, or entered the tent of some wandering Berber tribe before descending on Ireland’s shores?
And, of course, Saharan breezes through Ireland’s hesitant spring, makes for perfect running weather.
It seemed like sand was the perfect place to bask in this geographical miracle, so naturally, I hit the beach. I wasn’t the only clever on there however; there were lots of walkers and runners about. We’re all very keen in these parts, to shake off winter’s gloom.
With the tide well out, the long strand seemed as vast as the Sahara itself.
And my running focus was just to bask in all of it.
After a winter of pavement pounding, the sand was a joy underfoot. And, even though my feet got wet, this was salt water, this was the sea, so soggy socks were swiftly forgotten.
I delighted in the cry of gulls, the laughter of children and the slap of wave on the shore.
Winding the corner down along the estuary, I soon got lost amid rocks and dunes. The sun, a pool of watery red, played peek-a-boo behind the cloud bank before suddenly disappearing and leaving a watery haze in its wake.
It was a haze that I’d noted earlier that day. Temperatures were too cool for it to be a heat haze. Perhaps it was part of the Saharan delivery, a fine haze of dust in the air?
By then, however, I had become a little at the sudden onset of darkness. It coincided with my looping back towards the roadway and lack of high viz clothing. And then the rain started. Long fat streaks of the stuff, tapping me on the shoulder, laughing at my sodden t-shirt and teasing
“Ha, you forgot about us didn’t you? Got lost in your little Saharan dream of Berber tents and Arabian nights. Silly runner in your silly, silly shirt”
The enclosing rain and darkness made me run all the harder. It’s about all I can say in its favour.
But savouring sand sea and warmth had kept a spring in my step. I had run farther than I had planned and needed to push harder for the finish.
I was soaked. But so too was my car. In fine fat Saharan bearing raindrops. Would I wash it? Would I what?
There’s a cool map in this link here, showing the pathway of the Saharan dust and bearing the news that the dust will continue to wing our way “for the next few days”.
It makes for dirty cars, but the upside is that it makes for perfect running weather.
Long may the south wind blow.