![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOw0tbFLXZSXabpW0BkXm89GJQkluc2pAQzb9rdW8fwXSA-VvAHL1mBFD3bRrWlvGBNWPXX_u3JrgzwZ6UClC_UZvKUMm350PFgNZMK38JXUL7a25lbLCYbBHczx1D7s05xmX4Cc3vOYs/s400/dunes.jpg) |
dunes of Traigh Eais, Barra |
A cuckoo calls as we walk the back road - families scatter from the church - mounds of cockle shells among rusting vehicles at the fish factory - couples sun themselves in garden chairs backed against their houses - the huge, wet, crunchy cockle beach that doubles as an airport - lunch in the dunes of Traigh Eais - sand is delicately lifted on to me by the wind as I snooze - dark clouds build in the distance - shelter from the rain in the baggage handling depot (similar to a bus stop) - aborted walk to Orasaigh over the endless beach -
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