The old lighthouse stood at the edge of the cliff.
Waves kept crashing against the rocks below.
Seagulls circled overhead, calling to each other.
A fishing boat drifted lazily on the horizon.
The keeper’s cat slept soundly on the warm stones.
Inside, the lantern room smelled faintly of oil.
Dusty journals recorded storms from long ago.
Tourists rarely visited, except on sunny weekends.
The sea air carried both salt and mystery.
Some nights, the foghorn groaned like a tired giant.
Others were clear, lit only by endless stars.
The lighthouse kept watch, patient and eternal.