Wind, cold and biting, howls across the open expanse of the beach. Sand turned into a stinging wall. Wave upon wave march into the shallows, crashing and sending up a drenching spray. Gulls cry cheerlessly overhead and the sun plays hide and don't seek in the gray clouds. Lighting strikes the waves.
Light flashes and disappears, repeating again and again, as old as time. It flows from the rocky, barren jut of land that dares to protrude into the icy dark waters. Fog mists across the land, obscuring everything, save for the light. A low bellow, more of a moan really comes from the mists, warning of dangers; of the rocks and the shallows. It warns and guides ships, if any there are that are foolish enough to try to make port on a day like this, safely into the harbor.
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