It's a lonely life. Day in, day out- light the beacon, keep things neat, monitor the weather, and record in the logs. Work that corresponds with the tide, with the turning of the minute hand of the clock. Under the open blue sky, I am the first sight the greets ocean weary travelers. After an extended period of time, looking out over the bow, surrounded by nothing but horizon and white peaks of currents, the peak of my tower is comforting; a link to human contact and civilization. I understand their loneliness, for this position of guardian and gatekeeper occupies both elements. Although I reside in an earth-bound edifice, not subject to the tossing and turning of the ocean's changeable moods, so few representatives of human nature are allowed within my walls. Those who do reside here are hardly vibrant; in fact, the gulls that fly over head are exceedingly more lively and cheerful than the work-weary drones that trudge up my spiral staircases. My one consolation is the assurance of the safety of these travelers. The violent cliffs that stand up stubbornly to the ocean's force are sure to resist attack, and defeat the unsuspecting scavengers in the night.
Comments