Sounds of crying Herring Gull held in the wind. Mimicking lost souls forced under and consumed by mountainous seas.
Spray turned to foam by relentless battering of wind and wave. Hunching behind weathered stone, Rock Pipit rest from the teeth of the gale.
Deserted harbour shields lifting vessels from destruction. No living to be made; no lives to be threatened, no pleasure to be cruised.
Far off raft of sea duck: too distant and too veiled to pin down to type. A drifting, bobbing wreck of pelagic wanderers.
Howling wind and numbing senses; a maelstrom stalking empty streets free of tat and trinkets. The distant past haunting the present...