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The LighthouseBy Lynn White QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Previously published in With Painted Words October, 2015. I was a little crazy to buy the old lighthouse. I knew it at the time. But I wanted to be somewhere, somewhere where I could shine, shine it’s lamps out into the vastness, shine like a beaming beacon. And it was so high. It matched my mood and then some. Higher than high. Higher than high. There was no housewarming.
No one came. There was no one to come. So, only I could relish the exposure. Only I could walk round the top of the tower and look over the edge into the dark deep depths. Only I could see the swimmer, a mermaid, surely? waving. Or was she beckoning as she approached the mooring. Only I could come spiraling down. Come down from the heights to open the door, to run down the steps to the mooring. And then the lamps went out. CommentsComments are closed.
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