The tide crashed against the jagged edges of the rock, showering him in a gentle salty mist. There were clouds in the horizon, but neither numerous nor big enough to block the last shimmers of the setting sun in the distance.

How long had it been already? A year? Ten? He couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of his anguish when he first learned of this lenghty, lonely assignment. Time meant so little here.

A couple of sea-hawks were calling it a day and heading back to their nests, magnificent flying silhouettes against the blue-grey sky. It was getting cold, and it would soon be dark. He turned away from the sea and headed back to the old building.

The newer ships didn’t really need his guiding light anymore, GPS, weather radar and radio beacons made sure the onboard computers kept them exactly where they were supposed to be. Still, this WAS a lighthouse after all, what purpose would it have left if it had no light to house?

The old generator made soft groaning noises as he purposefully cranked it up. He made sure all the right switches were in place, and let the light shine into the night.

At the top of the one hundred and fifty four step climb to the observation deck (he had counted each one them during the first month of his stay) he held his breath for a moment, as he always did when he watched the last rays of day fade into the distance.

The old and battered chair was there, as usual, waiting for him right in front of the western window.

The sweeping light from the tower was clearly visible as a sparkling beam in the mist, stretching into the distance.

He sat facing the sea. It was so peaceful here.