The big white topped breakers march in across the bay and hurl themselves onto the sand with an excited fury.

A quiet, contemplative day. The sea is restful and the sun shines warmly from a blue sky as blocks of clouds allow.

But as soon as the sun is over the horizon it is cutting through the chill and is soon reflecting its warmth off the placid sea.

The sun shines intensely through the branches of a Scots Pine making, for an instant, the illusion of a Christmas Tree. But it is still too early for such considerations.

Regiments of purple slate coloured clouds march along the horizon and shoulder up against the rising sun. Long streamers of high pink gold cloud radiate out from the east.

The cold, vicious rain sweeps across the green in long, grey curtains. The trees rattle and sway.

The sea is in a tumult from the shore right out to the horizon in white, steepling alpine peaks as if shouldering through a snowfield.

The sky to the east is gold slatted as the straight edges of the purple clouds are polished in anticipation of the sun.

Grey webs of drops of moisture lined the grass stems that sparkled and shone in the morning sun like tiny zircon necklaces and tiaras.

On the West Cliff Green the low autumn sun provides vistas, lit in different ways.

The whole green is somehow encompassed in a bubble of sound. Figures crossing to and fro seem small and distant.

The polished pewter plate of the Hare Hunters’ Moon peers out from the monochrome clouds as evening closes in.

But then the yellow of the native oak is yellow and brown in stark contrast to the evergreen background and the sycamore is suddenly bare against the blue sky; the gorse is in flower and autumn is everywhere.

The wind has abated a little but it is still strong enough to howl in the tree-tops, to shake the branches and to send little packets of dried leaves skittering along the paths.

The green waves heaving and collapsing onto themselves.

Here on the West Cliff, despite the wind and rain, someone has manged to set off a few Roman Candles in defiance of the weather.

Another crow takes a more usual command of the beach where two figures are swimming.

The waves are playfully boisterous and the water is warm enough for a November swim.

One of the West Cliff goats poses for the camera.

Aided by the wind and the rain, the areas under the holm oaks are deep in acorns. They have been washed into piles and drifts by the rain.