“Rock Pools” – Craig Teatime

As a child I searched rock pools left aside by the tide, tried to redraw picture books in real life, from the shelf I could reach up to, which divided to a full page double spread of a watercolor a child painted, better than I could draw. The escapades of an Ann or a Barry if the book was Irish, or a Tom or Harry if they were English, telling the reader, still reading slow in big print of the bounty living in ecosystems out there where mum or dad might drive you if you’re good.   Though it was only a harbour in Dún Laoghaire, but still here where the pier sloped lay pools of warm water, held up to inspection in rocky palms, living with strands of electric green seaweed deathless in air, but filled foliage in the glassy water there, and held tight to the water lips...