Cerulean Cape i'll savor how this emptiness defines you

he jetted back across the coast in the way he had come, this time trying to say out of a strong easterly wind that seemed intent on fucking his day up. the conditions had dropped to near white out again and he had frankly lost track of how many days he had been at it along the coast. a handful at best, maybe a week, who knew.
it was exhausting, and the weather was starting to try and really wear him down. it drove him into the cape thinking he would find some rocky outcropping to bed down against while the worst of the storm ravaged whatever it pleased, but he couldn't see shit in front of his face. his nose was pretty useless in the wind and with all the saltwater, and eventually if not inevitably he ended up trailing the sandy coast where the water could not quite reach him.
the roar of the ocean crashing was not as violent here as it had been elsewhere along the coast he had scoured, but it was still pretty rough. the chop of the seas, the absence of the gulls crying in the gale; it was pretty damn bleak. his pace had dropped to a bedraggled sort of walking, and soon he pinned his ears back to shelter them against the downy hairs at the top of his head.
but for real though, would it ever stop snowing?
he had considered venturing inland but didn't think it would do him any good—the snow was probably ten feet tall and would swallow him whole. but on the last clear day they had where it wasn't completely awful, he thought he had seen distant mountains.
should've gone there, he had lamented in thought.

@Nǚwū