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Dr Garvin Heer­ah

The sun had just be­gun to stretch its light across the south west­ern coast of Erin. Morn­ing shad­ows stretched long and lean across the sand, the sea whis­per­ing to the shore with a rhythm as old as time. I strolled along the beach, the salt air sharp in my nos­trils, the cry of sea gulls and cor­beaux cir­cling above. It was then I came up­on them, five fish­er­men, hard­ened men with skin dark­ened by years of sun and sea, their hands cal­loused from haul­ing nets and pots.

They were gath­ered un­der a makeshift shed patched to­geth­er with drift­wood and gal­vanise. An out­board en­gine leaned like a tired sol­dier against a tree stump. Near­by, a small fire smoul­dered, smoke drift­ing from a black­ened pot where fish broth bub­bled gen­tly, its aro­ma mix­ing with the brine of the ocean. The scene was hum­ble yet full of life; men bound by the sea and its dan­gers.