The Song of Endless Roads I. The Beginning The morning stirs with golden breath, A hush before the day is born. The earth awakens, soft and slow, Its heart still trembling from the dawn. I step into the waiting silence, Shoes damp with dew, lungs filled with sky. The road before me bends and whispers, “Walk on, child, don’t ask why.” For every path has secrets hidden, Carved in stone and sung by streams, And those who dare to keep on walking Find their footsteps leading into dreams. II. Voices of the Earth The fields are choirs of quiet wonder, Grass blades hum in emerald rows. The trees hold council in their stillness, Guardians of what the spirit knows. Birdsong bursts like sudden laughter, Rising clear where shadows fade. Each feathered voice a note of freedom, Each trill a hymn creation made. The wind becomes my patient teacher, Tracing stories along my skin. It speaks of journeys without ending, Of worlds that live both out and in. III. The Weight ...
Last Lantern Keeper
The village of Arensford slept quietly beside the cliffs, where the sea roared like a restless beast. At night, the only light that guided fishermen home was the old lantern tower, perched high above the waves. And within that tower lived Elias, the last lantern keeper.
Elias had tended the flame for forty years. His hands were calloused from trimming the wick, his eyes sharp from watching the horizon. To the villagers, the lantern was just a light. To Elias, it was a promise—one he had made long ago to his father, who had once kept the same flame burning.
But the world was changing. Ships now carried iron compasses, and merchants spoke of mechanical beacons that could shine without human hands. The council had already decided: soon the lantern tower would be closed, and Elias’s duty would end.
He told no one how the thought hollowed him out. Each evening, as he climbed the spiral stairs, oil can in hand, he whispered to the lantern as though it were an old friend. “One more night, my flame. Just one more night.”
One autumn evening, a storm broke across the coast. The sea writhed with black fury, and the rain battered the cliffs like hammers. Most villagers barred their doors and prayed. Elias, however, climbed the tower. He knew storms better than anyone, and he knew that ships often sailed blind in such darkness.
As he reached the top, lightning split the sky. The lantern flickered against the wind that forced its way through cracks in the stone. Elias shielded it with his body, tightening the shutters, feeding the flame until it glowed defiantly against the storm.
Then, through the veil of rain, he saw it—a ship. Too close. The waves were driving it toward the jagged rocks below. Without the lantern, it would never find safe waters. Elias worked frantically, raising the great glass hood, turning it toward the struggling vessel. His back ached, his breath came ragged, but he kept the flame steady, sweeping its light across the sea like a guiding hand.
Hours passed before the ship managed to steer away from the rocks. When it finally disappeared into the safety of the open waters, Elias sagged to the floor, drenched and trembling. His flame had endured. The sea had been merciful.
The next morning, word spread quickly: the lantern had saved lives. Villagers climbed the tower to thank Elias, though he only nodded quietly. But later that day, a messenger from the council arrived with a letter. The tower, it said, would indeed be closed at winter’s end. “Progress cannot wait for sentiment,” the letter read.
Elias sat alone in the lantern room, staring at the flame. For the first time, he allowed it to burn low. He wondered if perhaps the council was right. Perhaps the world no longer needed men like him.
But as night fell, he lit the lantern again. Not for the council, nor for the village—but for the sea, for the ships, for his father’s memory, and for himself.
When spring came, the tower was dismantled, stone by stone. Yet on clear nights, fishermen swore they still saw a faint glow on the cliffs, flickering against the dark horizon. Some said it was only the moonlight. Others said it was the ghost of the lantern, kept alive by Elias’s devotion.
And though the lantern tower was gone, its story endured. For light, once kindled with love, cannot be extinguished so easily.
Comments
Post a Comment