The lighthouse stood as a great guardian of land and a friend to those navigating sea waves.
The weathered paint of the lighthouse was evidence of its humble valour, how it stood resolute upon the rock to tell of dangers others couldn't see.
The lighthouse was bathed in rainwater and brine, the pure and the salty, season in and season out. Around it were the rocks both proud of the waves and submerged. It had been a long time since there were real steps to the door, ones that could be traversed with ease, and so they waited for the tide to pull the sea out a little further, to wait until all the rocks could breathe fresh coastal air.
Day or night, the lighthouse lit up my heart, for it was a thing of beauty, a poetry, a part of this coastal soul.
Starlight calls from the heavens, lighthouse glow replies from Earth, together lighting up the night.
There is a heartbeat in that lighthouse that gets converted to a steady beam upon the nightly reign of the moon.