It had been a beautiful blue-sky day – that perfect shade of Happy Blue – dotted with thick white cotton ball clouds. Gulls dance in the soft breezes, their cries echoing the happy sounds coming from the children playing on the sandy shore of the bay. White triangles of sails glide over the water, while farther out over the deep, longer, bulkier vessels plod forward, too weighed down with importance to play in the waves.
Later, the clouds lower and darken, made heavy with the rain they will soon release in torrents on the earth. The sky, too, darkens – an ominous promise of the storm to come. Families scurry to pack up children and blankets and hampers by the first fall of rain. Once jolly waves are churned into a froth, causing the dogged ships in the distance to hunch their shoulders against the forceful wind, unwilling to stray from their course.
The sky is petulant now, working its way to a sullen temper tantrum, hurling rain from the blackened clouds, growling with thunder, and moaning with wind.
High above the seething water, on an outcrop of sturdy rocks stands a watchtower, placid, unmoved, and tranquil amidst the turmoil. A light of safety and reassurance flashes around in a steady rhythm, unchanging in weather fair or foul.
And in that watchtower lives a lone guardian – the keeper of the light. The bay is his to protect, and the deep as far as he can see. He carefully tends his tower and watches over the ships that pass back and forth beyond his windows perched high over the water. It is driving storms like this he loves best, feeling the power of the elements working against the enduring presence of his tower, knowing that the stone walls and circling light will prevail. All are kept safe on his watch, though they know not his name or his face.
|Lighthouse of Port SOHOE|
Photo by NLE (Mama Nut)