A cold wind blows over the damp sand with a melancholy sigh, sending fleeing across the stones the yellow foam at the water's edge, and making the few brave travellers along the Promenade huddle deeper into their overcoats. The wavelets roll listlessly on to the pebbles, their usual gay song softened and toned down by the grey scudding clouds and cold east wind.
Out to sea the grey water merges imperceptibly into the grey sky, the mountains of the Lake District hidden from view by the distant swirling rainclouds; and a solitary trawler, working slowly up the channel towards the docks, hoots dismally before it disappears from view behind the gaunt girders of the pier.
A seagull drifts overhead, bewailing the passing of the hot sunny days of August, not long past, when the Promenade was busy with visitors in beach suits and gay summer frocks; when the doors of the beach-bungalows were open, and happy voices could be heard from within; and when the kiosks along the front were serving impatient queues of holiday-makers with ice-creams.
Now the shutters of the beach-bungalows rattle dismally, and the Promenade is empty except for a few whirling pieces of paper dancing and flying along the cold grey concrete, servants of the wild east wind.
The clouds are lowering, the wind grows stronger, and the rain begins to fall, slowly at first; large drops dotting the ground; then faster and more heavily.
Soon pools have been formed near the sea walls, little streams gush along, and the drains gurgle with surprise at the sudden downpour.
Slowly the tide goes out, leaving the wet sand gleaming through a grey mist of rain, dotted with sea shells and starfish. The mussel-banks appear, black and muddy, and are soon dotted with sea-birds, watching the water slipping swiftly and silently away between the sand banks by the edge of the channel.
As darkness falls the light from the lighthouse shines weakly forth, occasionally invisible because of the driving rain. Soon it is night and the desolate scene is blotted out by the all-concealing blackness.
Janice Saer, Form IV.
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