The Lighthouse
At the end of the western pier, someone left a light on.
At The End of The Pier.
The western pier reaches away from Lankytown and out across the water.
At its furthest end stands an old lighthouse.
It no longer guides ships through the darkness. To most of Lankytown, it is simply an abandoned building slowly surrendering itself to the sea and the weather.
But as evening falls, a light sometimes appears in one of its windows.
Someone is home.
Not Entirely Abandoned
The Ancient Woman has made the lighthouse her abode.
It isn’t comfortable. It was never intended to be a home.
The wind finds its way through gaps. The sea can be heard beyond the walls. What furniture there is has been found, borrowed, given or simply accumulated over the years.
An old chair.
A makeshift bed.
Blankets.
A battered kettle.
Mismatched cups and plates.
Everything has a purpose.
Almost everything has a history.
And the Ancient Woman seems to know the story behind every last piece of it.
A Room Full of Stories.
Look around the lighthouse and there are things everywhere.
Old photographs. Forgotten possessions. Things found upon the shore. Objects that once belonged to people whose names have almost disappeared from memory.
Most visitors wouldn’t give them a second glance.
The children have learned to look more closely.
Ask the Ancient Woman about something and she might tell you where it came from.
Ask another question and you may still be listening when darkness falls.
In the lighthouse, even the smallest object can lead to a story.
Looking Back
From the lighthouse windows, Lankytown lies across the water.
The Ancient Woman has watched it for a very long time.
She has seen children become adults and adults grow old. She remembers people who are no longer there and places that are no longer quite as she remembers them.
The town has changed.
The view has changed.
And still she looks back.
Where The Stories Are Told.
The children have no special place to sit.
They find an old chair, a box, a step or a space upon the floor.
The Ancient Woman takes her usual place.
Outside, the last of the daylight disappears from the sky. Across the water, lamps begin to glow in Lankytown.
Inside, questions are asked.
Memories are stirred.
And another tale begins.
The Light Is Still Burning.
From Lankytown, the lighthouse at the end of the western pier is little more than a distant glow against the darkness.
But inside, the children are listening.
Another story is about to begin.
