Burnmouth

Where the grey of the sea bleeds into the grey of the sky.
The solid stone houses designed to weather the winter storms huddle together for mutual warmth.
Defended by the castle on the hill and the pillbox at the end of the lane against winters advancing hordes.

The winter outflanks them and attacks from the sea.
Wind whips up great waves crashing over the harbour wall trying to sink the last of the villagers fishing boats.
The houses creep up the gash in the cliff by ones and twos to escape the sea and join the church above.

Through the day it continues and into the black night.
The waves roar and batter at the walls the wind howls and throws debris but eventually its wrath subsides.
The little hamlet stuck between the sea and the cliff has survived another assault and lives on dreaming of the summer to come.

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