Yesterday’s storm had brought death. Ships had splintered on unforgiving stone, spilling living cargo into a watery grave. After, Ransom lit pyres for strangers whose families would never know their fate. He stepped out of his lighthouse to a gorgeous, sun-filled day. Today he would focus on life and salvage.
I've always loved old lighthouses. Those who kept often lonely vigils saw so much of life and death. I can't imagine what it was like for them to go to town or return to the life they'd left to move to their outpost. They must have been overwhelmed by the busy-ness and the complexities cities created. There are still a few manned lighthouses up the coast but these keepers probably don't experience the same isolation as the keepers of old. Great story, as always!!
I've always loved old lighthouses. Those who kept often lonely vigils saw so much of life and death. I can't imagine what it was like for them to go to town or return to the life they'd left to move to their outpost. They must have been overwhelmed by the busy-ness and the complexities cities created. There are still a few manned lighthouses up the coast but these keepers probably don't experience the same isolation as the keepers of old. Great story, as always!!
I love the imagery in this story.
Good job! Love the image too!