Rest now and take in your surroundings

The soft shorelines, rocky and sandy, mainly sloping easily up from the sea. Few cliffs and stone outcrops other than on the island of Davaar which, a huge volcanic plug, long dormant, consists of only cliffs, rock and a fine covering of soil that allows grass to grow. Down the coast towards Southend, the cliffs rear their heads again and the isle of Sanda, another volcanic plug, rises resolutely from the dark ocean. The land is green and lush, in the summer, the garden of Argyll. It is still green in the winter, snow is rarely a problem, but the land seems darker, ochre, due to the dying vegetation, residing under the lowering grey, storm filled skies. Yet what we need to talk of is the sea, the old mistress of the town and country side. Once lovers, each reaping from the other, the land and sea were now sundered as the land chose a different love: the winter. Snow caressed her beautiful flanks made her pretty again even through the stripping winds. Hoar frost gathered upon her children, the trees, and made them shine and smile in in the occasional sunlight. Her other children, the animals, grew sleek and slim, searching always for food and rarely finding any. Her rocks, peninsulas and out crops, her hills and mountains were prettier than ever before, glacial with ice, frost and chill and the land was happy.

Her jilted lover threw his waves upon her shores, stripped the small creatures that inhabited her shoreline from their perches, devastating their lives in his Neptuneian fury. His waves, grey and bleak battered her shores, churning sand and pebbles into grinding stones, killing the innocent creatures, that only wished to survive and replicate. The sea in his fury threw himself upon the shore again and again, mindlessly and has ever since. He seeks her notice still. He seeks, this most jealous of lovers, to possess her, to take her for his own. To encompass and inundate her, to enslave her.