Short Stories

Style unspecific - A Place of Freedom, Calm and Recklessness

This hidden beach is tucked neatly away at the base of a steep hill. It is a long and twisted path by an equally long and twisted road.  Tires crunching slowly - loudly - on the gravel happens only on occasion, lights suddenly streaming through the shrouding dark to shine blindingly bright into the space ahead.

All else is at peace.

Silent.

Or rather (as a person who has never visited before, or has no emotional attachment to this place) you might think it to be silent... But if you simply pause to take a moment to listen to more than the eerie echoes of your solitary footsteps, this empty beach begins to feel more like home.

A dilapidated old building shelters under the cliffs and their ancient castle walls, like a hermit crab taking refuge in its shell.  There are cliffs on two sides of this beach; an exposed priory perched atop one while the left remains barren. It is a rough outcrop of sandstone that stands as sturdy as a fort and barricades against the rest of the world as if creating this secluded sanctuary is the sole purpose of its being here.

I savour the moments I can have alone on this beach, my beach.

Blocking passage at the front of this beach is the wild sea. Her waves crashing over the North Pier after being forced South by the dominating Arctic winds. Howling gusts blow up raging storms that whisk white horses and blast sea foam from the top of each and every wave. Icy cold, the relentless body of water moves, roaring through the quiet. Bringing salty sea spray up into the air, down onto my frozen cheeks, up into the air, down onto the sand, up into the air, down onto the forlorn ruins, up into the air!  Everything is exposed to the power of the elements which are raw and raging. Each squall causes so much welcome chaos.

Sea birds squawk and cry from their nests; I feel a part of the nature here.

Shrouds curl like snakes and whip about, thrashing the masts.  A cacophony of metal on metal fills the air around me as the wires and aluminium mixed steel collide with great reverberating clangs. Who'd have thought that a beach of dinghy boats, my favourite place, could host a concert with sea spray, anger, passion and a choir? I can tell you that it is silent to the average listener. 
Crashing rocks, splitting wood, screaming gulls.

Calm.

That is what I feel when I stand here.

~~~
In writing this, I had to fulfil the criteria which included: mood, senses and contrast.   I was required to describe a place which is special to me and bring out the reasons for this. 
Hopefully I have presented that... I did find it especially difficult to maintain a visible presence in this writing.  Also, I began in the present tense which created a challenge not to slip into the past tense (because I find that easiest to write in) but I feel it paid off as it seems to leave a bigger impact - as if I am actually there as I write.