The day is a lighthouse
with a slow aspect
operating in intervals of minutes
rather than seconds
Hail turning to snow
propelled by the Atlantic gale
visibility nil
face iceblasted
Angry riders
marching up the harbour
fifty foot waves
slamming into the cliffs
Out comes the sun
flashes up the buildings
the caps on the waves
the wall of grey beyond
The wall of grey to the west
marching in from Canada
completes the cycle
The day is a lighthouse
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