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Sepia colored sunset reflecting off calm ocean tides,
Bouncing off the smooth white surface of the light house’s walls
Piercing through its windows putting it’s incandescent light bulb under the limelight.

Fishermen fish by its fortress of pillars packing up to descend with their tools clanking,
Fishing poles still winding, water splashing, fishes flopping on the harbor, car doors slamming,
The last and first thing seen is it’s the light house towering over the horizon with its light rotating overpowering the fog.

Its overseer locks up, ready to go home to his family, to meet them and be greeted with hugs kisses and grateful smiles when he brings the bread. He’s old and gray with hairs as white as his castles walls, ancient but not too ancient soon to pass this lighthouse to his children when he’s done his time.

Nights are awfully, black-blue skies scattered with stars covered by a blanket of fog. Nothing ever changes except the ships that come and go and the crew sailing upon them who have gazed upon this marvelous landmark, this look out, and their protector.

To many it’s a simple lighthouse, but there may be more.
Its bright ivory light never dies on the job, it keeps its persistent light glowing until it burns out, no not dies, goes out.

Black waters splash, crash, colliding with the senses of the mind and body, advancing trying to knock the harbors guardian down only to fail. Its pale ghost can be seen through any night, weather no moon or no stars its always there. A nightmare creeping up beneath the fog, a memory engraved into our minds.

It’s the least important things that always stay engraved in the memory, to many its nothing but the mind thinks other wise. At the unexpected moments in life you will recall to this tower, how its light revolved over and over and how its horn blew.

It’s enough to remember this Lighthouse Sanctuary.