the story part 3 of ?

Standing in the lighthouse
a bird's eye view can see her silhouette trimmed by the soft glow of a warmly lit room. 

Softer still, as if looking through a tear is the view of a rounded room lined with bookcases. Volumes pouring out on the tables and stacked on the floors. A time ago, they summoned the readers to be lost in paradise or playfully challenged in a game of knowledge. 

Behind her, the warmth of the woollen tartan on the leather arm chair beckons for rest.

Beyond the chair - there is a niche filled with the clutter of art supplies- paints, brushes , mason jars- a lamp and and an easel and works in progress - of incomplete visions...

the books are open 
the candles are burning
the paints are drying 
the radio is playing 

Imagination is held captive by loneliness and hope. She waits for her muse.  

She prays out over the sea. Arms wrapped like a blanket of hope -cradling her heart- she waits and sways with the crash of the waves below. Recounting memories of footprints in chase and lover's initials drawn in the sand along the line of the beach below.

Music rocks softly - a brief awareness of Robert Plant's Little Angel Dance on the radio sways her body, in rhythm with each crash at the shore. Being lost in voices, guitars and violins and a conjured vision of Triton on his chariot bringing home her love out of the sea. 

In the dark and silence it becomes so easy to let the first moments of grief flood in. The moment when, the vow was broken and the ship took up anchor.  

"I am going away to find my treasure".
"I am going away to fix my life." he said.

The Captain, weary, and resolved, pierces the heart of his love as he walks out into a storm he cannot see. "I will die if I stay" And he goes where the wind carries him- out into the tempest. 


His Love remains. Standing mute in the lighthouse.
The albatross circling, is abated by her strong summons of courage and faith to break dawn.

So she stands, she watches, she waits. She prays and honours the sea - giving her sanity over to Shakespeare's Prospero - waiting for him to calm the storm- inside and out. She directs the beacon of light out to her Captain and hopes he will bring his ship about in the place of his comfort and prowess. 

Holding on to the treasured myths and memories of their life...she keeps the light shining brightly.