A pure white feathered plume, of spray, erupts from the brooding blue-green sea. Like a depth charge detonation. The thunder of surf, the mist of spray, the roar of wind, fills the air. Assaults the senses.
Storm scend races into the seething cauldron, of Hell Bay. In from the open ocean. Whipped up by storm Evert, now driven ashore by this nameless, days long, wall of wind.
The granite jawed shore, of Bryher, bares its fangs to the seaborne invader.
Surrounded, by the ring of rock, the waves boil and swirl, seeking an escape. Their ability to roam at will, denied. Some climb high into the air, in a bid to vault the confining reefs.
Others scale the cliffs, striving to regain their lost freedom.
The skies reverberate with the raw, untamed, power, of this majestic battle between sea and shore; fluidity and solidity.
The latest forecasts indicate a wind down, in wind speed, during Sunday (Met Office) or Monday (Meteo Consult).
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