Dorset memory - Down by the seaside

The seaside sparkled in the mid winter morning sunlight. Small boats bobbed about in the enclosed harbour, horseshoe shaped, lying grouped loosely together abandoned, they tossed on the choppy sea. Various coloured hulls of  small fishing boats faced the incoming tide, their sides constantly lapped with waves, slapping up against them & falling away with decreasing foamy bubbles, as they rode the watery humps. The shrouds rattled & pinged in the strengthening breeze singing constantly as the wind rattled them free. The masts waved from side to side catching the sun's rays atop the swaying fishy smelling boats, bumbling on the sea. The fine yellowy sand reached the edge of the incoming foam filled waves, being sucked  down to where the water deepened. Tiny shells littered the water's edge here & there as a few inquisitive children fossicked amongst the water's edge, bending down & finding small treasures, keepsakes in their mission.
Seagulls cried out as they swooped across the waves, then circled overhead & deposited themselves on higher ground gathering & gliding before they settled. A flat curving wall stretched out into the dark blue sea & a rustic looking lone man bent to his stick, slowly hobbled along the top gazing wistfully out to sea. He was remembering the long days spent in his fishing boat expectant of a good catch, the fish swimming willingly into the outstretched net. His face is tanned & ruddy, lined with the years of memories, but his eyes still sparkled with the light of life within him.
The small town is awake & quietly bustling in a tangle of comings & goings as the crispness of a winter morning gripped the day, shaking it loose of the cold night gone. The gulls continued to cry overhead, wheeling in circles, shaken from their mooring of a small harbour pier, searching for their next easy meal. They decend over the sea once more which continually laps the shore, bringing with it all kinds of flotsam & jetsam, & the occasional piece of driftwood.
In the fossil shop, the pickings aged beyond time, have fish buried & rippled smooth, dug from the nearby cliffs hidden with their history. The small shops nestled along the sloping road, are varied with their wares of antiques, books & sundry clothing. Coloured cottages tucked back from the road & dotted along the sea wall, sit capturing the bracing air blowing in off the bay sighing cold & salty, seeping into their walls & ancient  rooftops sideling into doorways, eating into timbers.
A storm appears as the clouds cover the sun's winter tranquility, gathering out at sea & fast approaching the town's pleasure, darkening with its threat.  It skuds low & compliant with it blowing into the town with falling rain gushing from the clouds, drenching its way across the sky & sheeting into pelting torrents.
 The seaside town appears drowned in its path, washed clear & bright after the storm has passed & slowly emerges as the clouds squeeze their last drops. The  sun manages to reappear from over the drenched rooftops, its rays casting long shadows in the late wintry afternoon.